90.

It is not as if the sun and I

Have a unique relation, but the I

Of verse is stubborn and makes things up

To impress the world. Not that the world

Cares, and the sympathy of the trees

And the soul takes place in the mind

Or some vacancy the eye imagines.

And what of the heat of your breath, the smell

Of your hair, the sound of your words jousting

On the wind? The metaphor of love endures

In what it makes of itself, Troy long fallen,

A solar storm a trace. The window of the moon

Arises as though in a dream but language.