Here comes, with those occurrences of mind,
Perhaps some rain, some snow; perhaps some sun,
Some sky, clouds shaped by thoughts once left behind,
Come you, come I, now see, comes everyone.
And these arrivals are not ever done;
Events dance purely for that secret sight
When all the candles of the heart are gone,
And gone, in time, the candles of delight.
But if I still delay, now I’ve begun
To love you with old moodiness of rain,
Shyness of snow, possessiveness of sun—
Remember—candles to the touch are pain,
What mind conceives is never purely done;
Though here come you, come I, comes everyone.
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