Skylark

I sip and fall and die and live: "you make me better," love; and
Break the sky, a world of mystic birds; and chirp—my soul;
And forest—my mind; for something sparks—a fuse of
Lightening; and something loves—a broken dream. We scratch

And screech and seal and dive—a torch of pain—a storm to
Climb; and such the life—to swim the void; and there the night—
A sighted joy; and fall a trance; and sit a flame—a form of
God—a rhythm, Spain. Such beauty; and such control: a heart

Of passion: a mansion, God. I pause and stare, and stare and
Pause—a feeling vague—a screeching wall; and what to give—
A notion flame; and what to live—a box of pain. But come—the 
Heart; and die—the fear; and walk a sky; and cry a vein. I fall
The sight—and cringe the lake; and thus the light—a mystic
Rake; and thus the love—forbidden fate.