for R.

Dear, if I cannot find a song to sing you
but tunes-of-longing die away, unheard,
then all the strength of the sea itself shall bring you
its living word.

And if the loving-lightness is forgotten
that should transcribe for you a gift-of-the-heart,
upon night’s sea a poem’s lines are written.
And dawn will start

beneath the drama of the sky, so calm
it seems, the waking deep so lovingly
carries it on, that what makes my words warm
comes back to me.

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