Don your finest ballgown

And join me in the meadow

Let yourself melt beneath the silver

Weaving effortlessly into my gaze

Till the fine threshold which keeps our silhouettes from becoming one

Finally retreats yonder

Perform your dance, oh heart of mine,

An effervescent parody of times passed,

And while those troubled onlookers stare

Leave them wondering whether they are meant to wallow in joy

Or prance in sorrow

And when our sleeplessness releases us

And the sky puts on her makeup

Fret not for where my gaze lay

As these watercolor sunrises

Resting gently over power lines and stuffed between smoke stacks

Are little more than margin doodles

When seen between the willow’s arms