Missive 3

The date encloses me like Samson in his chains I protest not the fate I find with groping fingers blind Though my vision lapses my calling still remains I did not summon who I love, nor pledged love declined And will celebrate the wondrous moment hot with heat The rumpling of the universal sheet The crescendo and the longing for joy in each new repeat That makes lamb's rod quivering bleat There is no tears for joy, the flesh is vain and sees not How finer things endure. Love is so unloosable a knot.