She loves him and he gives her the pencil line
Of a map refractioned. She loves him and he
Is content in the valleys of it. The land stretches
Through open water, verdant copses of
Trees and rock brittle coast. She loves him
And he thinks she is all the ways the light could
Touch him and she is all that he has given her,
Even life - she is a recreated thing like the smudge
Of the grass that she will never survey, but
Owns even so. She loves him, as if love was a thing
That spills out past these wooden boards, as if
It was an unmarred stretch of tomorrow. She speaks,
As if her love was the world, as if it could re-remember
The past, as if she could be content with only this.