Love’s tender mercies clear the air,
          unhinging the gate to practiced longing.
Tied to life, you spill into water, deeper
          than any atmosphere. Pastoral nature
has no plastic flowers, no tragic exits,
          no barges of machinery headed
for Kuala Lumpur. You are in it and
of it, fleck of star, lip of tulip, smallest cleft
          on the face of stone. Altering time
with your longing, you are erased
          and redrawn with new eyes.