If you were coming in the fall
I’d brush the summer by with half a smile and half a spurn
As housewives do a fly
If I could see you in a year
I’d wind the months in balls
And put them each in separate drawers for fear
The numbers fuse
If only centuries delayed I’d count them on my hand
Subtracting till my fingers dropped into van Diemen’s land
If certain when this life was out that’s yours and mine should be I would toss it yonder like a rind and take eternity
But now uncertain of the length of this that is between it goads me like the Goblin Bee
that will not state its sting