Many men lost in this darkness
have taken to the bottle but this quick vessel
takes me; I am neither hand nor foot, only what will
has made me—and the will to follow
is strong. When I drink, spots appear.
When I exhale, your name is on my breath.

I suppose the honey on your breath
should have been my sign in darkness:
Things Are Not As They Appear.
I should have seen your face, still a vessel
of light, a torch for me to follow.
Oh, little love! In the future I will

do better, if you will
lean close, lip to lip—return breath
to my body and the soul will follow.
After all it is known—Is it not?—that in darkness
Love is the boat sailing home, a vessel
of some power. But you press your lips to mine and it appears

not so. If you asked me why it appeared
so important to speedily will
myself to eternity—to steer this fleshy vessel
to the underworld; though love never was simple as breath—
all I can say is that darkness
clouded my mind—I could only follow.

Listen, don’t just follow—
finish your sonnet, live to see 14 candles appear,
making light of the darkness.
Death is long-lived—you will
see me there before it draws its last breath,
but Life is the vessel

to bear you there—the vessel
that you must ride and follow
through. Recall what you said as I held my breath
about parting till the dawn appears.
We’ll part a little longer, little love—will
that dagger return to the darkness.

Little love, like wine from its vessel so pours my breath.
A single cell flares in darkness. I pray do not follow.
But I will my eyes open—and you appear.