You set light
in a bronze star
on the heaven’s curve
where nights run

on mountain slopes that swallow the darkness.

I love a shady tree
in mornings that kiss springs
as I love your hair
in approaching hot
afternoons.

I hear birds singing in the leaves
on metallic notes and voices,
the wind cooling in
the soft grass.

It makes you sit in the shade and
have her become your love,
when the question arises
what needs to be done to
be born without sin
the second time?