This sun, this moon,
this moss-covered womb
from which love awakes.
To know you now,
(Why not then? But still … now!)
The butterflies have multiplied.
I catch them with your net–
cupped hands, night of your gossamer stars,
in which all the creatures sleep–
their breasts peacefully heave,
as so does my heart,
as so does the smile I wrought on your face,
from horizon to horizon bowed–
wide valley with my soul-river running through it.