To love the beauty of the world:
How such a beast as this could live.
The nightingales and orange groves:
Beneath them all the fear and loss.
To love the mystery and the space:
The measurement of prison walls.
The moorland tops where skylarks rise
Above economies of death.
To love the way we grasp at truth:
Its horns are sharp and black with blood.
The only day we have is this.
The gods have made these memories strong.
The sun will rise beneath the earth.
The daily horrors count our worth.