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.