The Final Temple.

If love rests in places where

The heart finds castle homes,

I have many hundred love temples-

In sudden grass in the monotony

Of sidewalks;

In some green painted ladder

Limited and arrogant of its short span;

In the woman who laughs at me in the mirror,

Having draped her skirts about,

And lifted the corners of her mouth up;

And in the underside of your wrists,

And on your forehead.

I love best in a home beyond

Things I touch and remember, where

Time flows shadowy and

Disappears near eternity;

Leaves me great room to water

Insignificant, reckless hopes.