A Love Song

When the intellect was
defiling the unwritten book;
half-read, you reach for epiphancy.

Why you had to kill yourself
on the swing, before reaching?
the peak? Searching for escape?

I cannot know you, O flame.
Do not go beyond the sky.
My wings twist like nasturtiums.

Last night a city wept in?
my arms. There were no roses?
left and, no cut glass nudes.

They bleed, when you dig
out the roots. The croci were
planted by me when snow had melted.