Morning O!

O that this time shall not be doubled 
into a day or more, into long thirds of night, 
denying me hours of realizing

And O, my thanks, for not getting me yet,
to pleasure pleasure pleasure, the plea with sure, 
a wicked lure to turning all in my hand, 
for its texture, then that again!

plea with sing, so it seems I can't have enough
---this thing that streams my head,
over my tongue, my hands and feet,
just give me morning to avoid defeat---
a soundless, peripoisal sweet

Finally O, the shadows, barely forming, 
of my yearning into morning, I love them, 
their slow elonging to health, to thrill. 
 
You love me back, you morning, still. 


	 
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