Sonnet VIII
If your eyes were not the color of the moon, / of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,
And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.
Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.
The night turns on its invisible wheels,
and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber.
No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,
we will go together, over the waters of time.
No one else will travel through the shadows with me,
only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.
Your hands have already opened their delicate fists
and let their soft drifting signs drop away; your eyes closed like two gray
wings, and I move
after, following the folding water you carry, that carries
me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny.
Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.
If your eyes were not the color of the moon, / of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,
It was passed from one bird to another, / the whole gift of the day.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, / or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
Take bread away from me, if you wish, / take air away, but