All year in open places, underneath
  the frescoed forest ceiling,
  we have made ceremony
  out of this seasonal love.

Dividing the leaf-shade as divers white
  in green pools we rose to dry
  islands of sudden sun. Then
  love seemed generosity.

Original sin I whitened from your
  mind, my colours influenced
  your flesh, as sun on the floor
  and warm furniture of a church.

So did our season bloom in mild weather,
  reflected gold like butter
  under chins, repeatedly
  unfolding to its clock of seed.
...