Words for the Chisel (collection)/Fall of Dew

by Genevieve Taggard

Fall of Dew

Sweet mortal boy who walks with me
Nearer and nearer the sleepy sea

Wherein we shall be separate
Drowning singly—it is late;

Now while my mind is clear and airy
I want to hurry, hurry, carry

All I may ever keep with me
Before it vanishes, to the sea;

Toward the salty seatake
Dew from a little inland lake;

A lake that lay on a leaf, where
You wrung water from the air;

The sea has nothing to say to this;
I will dilute her salt with bliss;

However silent, it has been.
I am sleepy and serene.