I wander the beach sometimes where men stand with pants rolled,
fishing for shark. And I think I can find you in the wandering night
and set you close and kiss and, as we close our eyes,
make another universe in our private dark. And the sheets
will be like the linens dry upon the air and folded in the light when the hurricane
has gone away. You make words as I do. Make them into wings as I
will and meet me now.

Let me give you strength, again and again as night does; let me
enter into your secret and make it mine. Let me pace to you
again and over and set a step to upper door. We will fly inside. There,
the fishermen cast golden nets and you are a child again and I and you
are mine. Take this: it spills and sings, and looks for night. I rest
until light stirs, and wakes more words. Words, towns of words. A nation
of words to conquer my prize.