I slip the morning round my waist
And snip it at my thighs –
I run, so young, through days undone,
To childhood’s sweeter tides…
None can take my blanket from me,
Spun with feather of sky.
None can hush my singing
In the soft and rosy light.
My body aches
With touches
Almost tender, almost cruel,
Hungry, racked
With laughter –
Warm honey, sweet misrule.
I rue the day I left you there with oceans in your eye,
But none can make the new day wane
Or stall her in quick flight…
