V. 2, #14: April 10, 2013

This place should not be able to contain
your loveliness within its drab, gray walls;
as soon hold back the sea or stop the rain,
catch each blue diamond drop before it falls

and weave them all together in a veil
to frame the golden glory of your face
as, if I could, I would--and for your trail
I'd knit the silver moonbeams into lace.

But here fluorescent bulbs emit a glare
devoid of warmth, and rain can't penetrate,
nor moonlight shine. And so you must stay bare
of all these ornaments I contemplate.

A shameful lack, and one I can't correct;
it's probably just as well you don't suspect.