Spirit - Sonnet 27

A shimmering of glass in early light

Held loosely by a string: what God hath made,

Let no man separate, for naught than jade

The value of thy pleasure lay in sight

Of twirling fingers. How we bow to mice

Expecting kinship with a buffalo,

And raising thought too high, we stoop too low

To see it thus. May simply love suffice

In reaching for that silky dream, ablaze

With gold reflections at the dawn of day;

And may the heat within not wisp away

Thy soft horizon and a softer haze

That, then should not be grasped, begins to rise,

And steals a gentle touch beneath the skies.