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Arnold Klein

Love, thus rapt in
Your sketch, you are the water that a crystal trapped in

And withheld from
The world that would pollute it and the spring it welled from:

How distill it?
They say that quartz is ice that has become so chill it

Sets, its phase changed
Forever—so, though now he sees your eyes unglaze, changed

From their ice blue,
Does your lover find them, from so far their twice blue

Greets him here—as
Crystals that he sought, but knows what distant eras

Went to form them,
And how infallibly his touch would fail to warm them.