If, near death, I saw your face
With darkening sight, I’d shatter
The thousand nervous lies and change
Them all to wordless smiles.
In them ten thousand mouths would scream
In unison that I was wrong,
Begging you to see in my infant eyes
Some truth as they turn pale.

And I would meet the towering dead
And greet them with an open heart.

Now, beneath the whispering moon
While lovers clutch their sweethearts’ hopes
I write of how I too might love,
And, High as Babel, this hope soars through
The dark, black clouds that rain down hatred.
And lovers, as in their arms they hold
Their dreams so tightly they might shatter,
Kiss in secret that dream’s soft lips,

While I and others can only hope
That She, in her coldness, shan’t pass us by.