Always this is the way it is with me,

To give large as the wind of all I have,

Or to be secret, listening and remote.

Once there were days, far off and done, when I,

So two should have enough, doubled my love.

I marched in the middle, one of the three

Quick hearts more subtly knotted than they knew.

Time was a great invisible music,

Never quite captured, but about to be,

And I, like one who laughs along the wind,

Arms wide, and hears his 'laughter and his life

Join greater music, I made them sonnets.

I wrote her hair "dark shadows" and I called

The real world a sound behind closed doors,

And love a sweeter thing than men believe."

To him, against "the sudden tricks of fate;"

Nothing of what we once had is lost,

All we have told our hearts is living there."

Music flamed like lightening, stabbed my side...

A pain that neither let me sleep nor wake,

By day or night, entered and used the veins,

Till silence grew, like seared unfeeling skin,

To heal a crooked wound that laid bone bare.

Whatever winds blow now, blow hollow, high,

Whirling strange voices up, but never mine.