I will throw my prayers for you,
my perceptions of your endless beauty,
the iron beams that weaken under the weight of my love,
down the sharp and threatening walls of a gorge,
into the ungodly cold of the defiant river,
so they may erode the impressionable stone on their journey to the sea,
where countless merciless storms they shall endure
before retiring, weary, upon the shore
in the garden behind your room
where they will water the roots of that old and dying tree
so that it shall produce a peach every color of the resplendent sunset,
and you shall take it as a sign when you wake from precious sleep,
to promise yourself another day.
I know no other way to reach you,
please, my love, how may I keep you?