135 I'm painting your image upon the crumpled paper of days. I'm tenderly touching your eyes with a brush. I'm tying together your lines with my lines. I'm wiping away with my lips the bitter shades on your face. It takes only minutes to sketch through miles between you and me. It takes only colors to link me and you -- The growth of the light from the root of the blue To cover the black with white petals on the palette of spring.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems