In a Subjunctive Mood

A morning spent enthralled by
The bobbing dance of a rose thrust
On its stem toward the sky blue;
An afternoon lulled to watchful stillness by
The birdsong of a hundred unseen friends hid
High in the crowns of the trees;
A night caught breathless and trembling by
The span of the starry sphere laid
Out like a map inked with fire.

And you come,
Foreign traveler, alien and stranger,
Invader in this, my other place,
With hands full of beauty
And fingers spread wide. It is
A generosity unspecific, and yet,
I take it to myself and cherish:
In the songless, flowerless winter,
Your light would keep me warm.

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