This barrow-tomb serves as sleeping nest
for those who will be martyrs in the morning.
           We must all learn to love

like martyrs, quickly, brightly as they do—

Let rise the night we first touch,
morning we last see,
          bridal bed & the burial.

Salt in our eyes at high tide—take
not this one
desire at a time lapping us, but storm’s

          surge, that breaks
          half way between one
          ecstasy and the other.

Earth in the sheets: at the lip
of the grave, love.