For lack of power to hold in my embrace
The woman whom I love across the sea,
I bid my every sentence into place
And ordered every word to dance for me.
In classic form the poem did coalesce -
But wasted was the night that saw me try
To teach its words to mean (and bear that stress)
When all they knew to do was signify.
The words meant well, but could not execute
What I choreographed, my words to make
Immediate enough to substitute -
And so their perfect form I did dismiss.
No dance of language can ever replace
Holding each other in silence, and meaning together.