Yearn for me -

With thistles crowned, with eiderdown all bound
up in your pale white mane, your eyes, once blind
as malachite, are splintered to a kind
of gentle, keening radiance, not sound,
but light between the leaves, all green and brown
and gold. You watch me. Laugh, always behind
my back, but softly, wind on waves and mind
full blown with fields of time. Persistent hound,
yet deeper than rich earth, your slumber kept
my trail so fresh, to seek and bind my brow
with signs that now you count my every breath.
How strange that passion grows inside the crypt,
but you would not give love in life, so now
you find the way to yearn for me in death.