I have no lips to trace you with,
Just these words from screen to screen.
That I might glimpse such galaxies in you,
Scan the passages of this great mind
That holds us and all the hope-filled stars
In its confounding lines, your finite part
Startled by what mine might mean
To one like you, who keeps the old
Ways extant, by cradling the new,
Cleansing fire of our stubborn creed.
I can’t, I might, with half my hours spent,
Spend the other in your beauty’s tent
In some chosen, lovesick city, a crusade away…
For once, the reckoners were right--
The loving heart must doubly pay.
Nathan Woods, editor/overlord