Lady
i pray to what is unimaginable,
to your smile
which will not even allow even my pencil
nearer than a thousand miles.
i pray to your eyes
whose niceness decides my pen
it is a thick fool.
my brushes go big and stupid
and their colour(s)turns to paint before
your laughter,to which i kneel.
i worship at your tears
i approach your tears
with my best chisels
(but in your least tear there is nothing
conceivable)
my chisels stutter and wobble.
But chiefly i entreat your timidity
(i mean that aspect of you which so easily can
explore completely and enjoy the occult textures,
consult wholly and continually the invisible edges,of that and this:
distinguish swiftly and exquisitely
in all things what entirely is alive.)