love poems

a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
sleep, gray brother of death
when the wind works against us in the dark
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
she said
through the broad earth's aching breast
see, from this counterfeit of him
this ancient silver bowl of mine
in the sphere
why are the things that have no death
a bird sang
i saw god. do you doubt it?
the old west, the old time