The White Lilies


As a man and woman make
A garden between them like
A bed of stars, here
They linger in the summer evening
And the evening turns
Cold with their terror: it
Could all end, it is capable
Of devastation. All, all
Can be lost, through scented air
The narrow columns
Uselessly rising, and beyond,
A churning sea of poppies

Hush, beloved. It doesn’t matter to me
How many summers I live to return:
This one summer we have entered eternity.
I felt your two hands
Bury me to release its splendor.


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The White Lilies