Sonnet VIII
If your eyes the moon,
of a day full [errupted by tinued about 26
er ]
of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,
if even move in agile grace like the air,
if you an amber week,
not t
he vines;
if you t bread t moon
kneads, sprinkling its flour across the sky,
o, I could not love you so!
But w is --
sand, time, tree of the rain,
everyt I can be alive:
moving I can see it all:
in your life I see everyt lives.