Going out with my love, on a Summer’s Saturday night,
stopping at 7-Eleven, Seattle neighborhood,
she came back to the car, giggling of news inside:
the counter clerk had said, “Don’t have too good a time”.
“Why not?” she parried, playing, to his concerned response,
“ ‘Cause if you do . . . “, watching her dancing eyes, “you’ll burst!”
And here today, August amplitudes
regale my swimming senses at each curve
of the road’s meadows and maples, ferns and flowers—
I’m held to watch voluptuous plenitude
as every growing being rounds to bursting.
Is there a limit, the beauty we
can take; to overload that stacks
the senses, turning away the day?
So charged, intensified we’ll burst?
But under my love’s eyes,
over the whelming beauty,
our endless river draws.
It works in us,