The wake of open fields lies deep behind,
Wide sparsity swept in tended lilies,
These paths with you lie thickening with words,
For on your garden paths I have found ease,
Not of the brittle kind but ringing true,
Like through the fear all curiosity,
Like through tired eyes all life's abundant joys,
Like this the deepest solace within pain,
Like this the firmest purpose within toil.

Working like a bee,
Yet finding pollen elsewhere,
Dusting textbooks, filling library air,
It starts a change of different kind,
Dripping like honey off the mind.

I wish to enter time sleepful,
To warm up under covers kipped,
To do business at dream market stalls,
To nonsense talk from tired script,
And walk drempt streets forgetful.