Might I write of you
As I write
Of spring entering summer
Might I write of you
As I observe
The words of Pablo Neruda
Might I think of that place
Beside the apple blossom
Where we might lay together
Might I think of that hut
Which, with a lover’s touch
Could easily be constructed
For no practical reason
But to sit in, to write in
To make love daily
Might the timbers
Give us their sap
Might we thus grow
For no other reason
Than to be nearer to each other
Nearer to love
