These letters are want the days
That I’ll remember few,
When we galloped fields of sage
And valleys of featherfew.
There you hummed a poets lines,
When of sage rose grape vines;
And threaded the night a gown
With lamp lights that littered town.
I couldn’t as a stranger pass
As you dressed a virgin land,
A language braided of the past
With a homeless heart and handless hand.
So your hills I braved
When you unearthed to me,
As we with night behaved,
Where you conceived a doorless key.