Head of a Woman with her Hair Loose
If only for once it were still.
If the not quite right and the why is
could be muted, and the neighbor's laughter,
and the static my senses make—
if all of it didn't keep me from coming awake—
Then in one vast thousandfold thought
I could think you up to where thinking ends.
I could possess you,
even for the brevity of a smile,
to offer you
to all that lives,
in gladness.
The Book of Hours I, 7
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