Like a bulb buried in winter
0000000000woken by the secret
tremor of all things underground
0000000000that whisper in concert
of solitudes and silence
0000000000I know somehow that
Love me or not
0000000000you cannot stop
me from loving you
0000000000and that thought
of my possession of that love
0000000000foments in me
a strange excitement whose name
0000000000I think is joy.
Joy! Joy—my little white paper boat
0000000000sailing in and out of my arms
I could not sleep tonight
0000000000for the brightness of your light,
for the softness of your charms.
© Dan Goorevitch 2008
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