Sonnet To My Beloved Laramie

I would send roses, stars to my beloved

bouquets sweet

and bar no lilies from her feet.

Oh, I would send thrushes and martins skyward.

Hers alone would I be; how sure of love

we, who see only one another;

such blindness like a wind-swept sea, becalmed

becomes a kindness soon.

The ships sail homeward seeking port.

Love, unskilled but true, moves onward,

lost in the wake of arms and kisses,

then awakening at last, sees itself.

Storms and seas and kisses run aground

only love that’s lost is ever found.