at the far edge of earth, nightis going away. anotherpoem begins. slumped overthe typewriter i must get thisexactly, i want to make it clear this morning that yourface,as it opensfrom its shadow, is moreperfect than yesterday;andthat the light, as ithesitates over the approachof your smile, has given thisaching bed more than warmth,more than poems; somewya generous rose, or a verydelicate arrangements of sounds,has come to peace in this new room.----------------------------------------------------------------
__________________________________*Note to self: Add Sig*