Lover's Choice

I see! I see! What shall I seel

Blue candles, a bunch of grapes,

Ribiers on a green-glass plate.

Outside, the snow diluting the sea

As shape frees shape indefinitely.

Inside the room the snow seems fake

Except for the patterns it makes

Crossing and erasing what I see.

Don't mortify and turn apart,

There is no moment that is pure.

Let fall the serious, stalking heart;

Let the image flower and spread.

The world will linger insecure

Until it's fallen, unless it's bled.