Choice

Cloud-made mountains towered,
Beckoning to me;
Visionary triremes
Talked about the sea....

There were strings of camels
On the Tunis sands....
There were certain cities
Holding out their hands....

Mine the choice that fettered
Lips to fountain brim;
Timed the droning transits—
Bees in gardens dim.

Thus I pay no tribute,
Heed no tallier’s call;
Only sound of kisses
From a waterfall.

Only honey dripping
In a hollow tree;
First of hour glasses
Keeping time for me.

Only broken whispers,
Tracing themes unsaid;
Soft as tread of visions
O’er a poppy bed....