Would like
 your body lit by a single candle flame.
Rain frozen upon the window. 
Electricity out. 
Would like the shy willow of your hair 
 to reach up just that once, 
 high as it would go, to then flower. 
Birds, I guess. Song.
 
Odds are, 
 it is only your heart which starves. 
May the light that captures you--
O, only the thought 
 of the light that will be lost
 is lost.