Sonnet VIII

    If your eyes  the moon,

    of a day full [errupted by tinued about 26

    er ]

    of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,

    if even  move in agile grace like the air,

    if you  an amber week,

    not t

    he vines;

    if you  t bread t moon

    kneads, sprinkling its flour across the sky,

    o, I could not love you so!

    But w is --

    sand, time, tree of the rain,

    everyt I can be alive:

    moving I can see it all:

    in your life I see everyt lives.