Frame

If true my words for love were made a frame,
How pretty could once loves redrawn for view
hang free—the happiness that bears my name
put to a sturdy ash enclosure, stained sky blue.
And if my words are blue, then white my theme,
White whole and innocent: that should I fall
I will to all the world unconscious seem;
caught was I in that purest siren call.
But white is just as empty as it's pure
And well I know in me the feelings lie
Love is to less enjoy and more endure—
a cloud as it is to my word-made-sky.
If words were frame, they'd fall to just disuse
For love alone I am poor love's recluse.