Hold me:

when the oceans rip binds of us,  
make ribbons  
cottages of Devonshire crumble,  
dust Tors, deliver you home
when John returns his long boat  
and talks of Spanish ladies,  
wide sky in frenzy,
young children run back to their source,  
dance in the rivers, barefoot,  
when I am lost,  
your eyes
my fireside  
still,  
hopeful tadpoles birthing in my pit -  
when the worst has been said,  
ground patient,  
humble with us  
and you find  
you love me less  
in this new  
valley of silence,  
go lone walking -  
Well, I won't mind,  
won't chase you for I find,  
even in the richest rushes,  
fullest years,  
we are all moments,  
accidents  
in time.