Give me a house
taking nothing in,
a solitude of sea,
a solitude of salt,
where the tear rolls
back into its eye
and stones sigh
under firmer skies.
Give me a blue
repose, a polar
privacy, dawns
golden with joy
and dusks purple
as loss. A pulse
admitted to itself,
remembering all.
A purer dark,
a clearer star,
under which
I could kneel,
still, in a finite
The grief,
keep it —
all coiled up
in granite.