I: Fragrance

What ties us two, child,
is mystery.
I have hurt you,
that I know,
and never can forget.

 The soul is a narrow flame
and all too easily bent.
Love's not my element
but is to me as song to breath.
When you do something I resent,
touch turns electric
and each look inflicts a little death.

Yet if I die in every stroke I take,
I die a double death
in every hurt I make.

You have drawn in me
from springs so deep
that light can't touch such waters
without tears.
Who knows what moist fears sleep
beneath the rich soil of our dreams?
Our brains are fertile with a quick green fire,
and where the roots of fear and longing
are truly set,
I will not forget, I will not forget,
and the sun will take up such desire
in blazing arms
and his fierce Love
will transfigure all our harms.