love poem

And if once or twice,
and now and then or later
you, hell, or i, find it
standing among the hens
and swallows, somewhere
under eaves and gables
rooms of boxes boxes
silk and closets

chests of drawers
too full of old things,
and photographs
too shortly bathed
and too poorly fixed,
and spiders,
kiss it once for me
and
little most wonderfully
discreet and round one,
when I find my voice
I’ll sing a song for you.