i’ll fold the sea.
and beneath its madness wing
refuge of you. and to me
what scent you sing
will set us living free.

such face, my lover,
of your likeness
within oldest fire
posing as the torrid Fates,
without soft touch and of true word.
drying off brightly the salt of young.

into what holy fold
dost my fingers probe?
from whence this total cold?
not yet, no, for today
is the day of the sun,
and as the music’s vibratos
wish it true

i’ll fold the sea.
and beneath its madness wing
refuge of you. and to me
what scent you sing
will set us living free.