this morning     washed     _ so that fragrances   _ rise while
_you     inconceivable   sleep   _curled up wise bud in my
bed     _ and I     incredulous   pedal the hill to this day   _my
_work     facing dusty stacks   with a secret   _ small music
called _maybe     your face     could unfurl for me     _later

but now    is the time when   happiest     I should be writing
poems     and indeed   _ they stir around     in here   it may be the
time having come to them     or they   _ to her   _ the ideas
arriving to someone     it has just    occurred to me     _I grab
a yellow _pad     _hide in the _shelves     instead     _sweet letter.