Howling (day 1888)

You’ve heard me calling upon your heart
My intentions are the spring:
Freshness of blossom, budding truth,
And warmth of the sweet sun.

I do not mean to make you shy,
My intrigue honest felt;
Throwing hazard to the wind
You hear my heart, my cry.

Like all painters of the world
I’ve swept my stroke upon your canvas,
Chance has left me restlessly
Dreaming of a midnight dance.

Your heart is grace to my wide eyes
I’ve felt it pushing, then giving slack,
I hear your wolf howl at my moon,
Hear mine, here, howling back.

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