Such recluse backdropped by evening's fields
all spiky white in bloom
for fear of treading bees, wander with care;
not one for wearing shoes.

Such mind enclosed, and wreathed in sun
its glow revealing dust
more threadbare each year do we find the couch,
yet find such things, we must.

My dear, in secrecy of thought
so silently, I should--
yet I cannot disrupt the quiet hum
or a weeping dove, disturb.

A vase of amber glass reflected
so kneel, and hemmed inside