AFTER YOU SPEAK

AFTER you speak And what you meant Is plain, My eyes

Meet yours that mean — With your cheeks and hair — Something more wise, More dark,

And far different. Even so the lark Loves dust And nestles in it

The minute Before he must Soar in lone flight So far,

Like a black star He seems — A mote Of singing dust

Afloat Above, That dreams And sheds no light.

I know your lust Is love.