"a naturalist"

All counting is collection,
or recollection. Collecting
each glance and touch and
tearless cry of yours now,
I know which I really prefer. But later
I'm sure I will prize the best from both,
as the one piles up and the other goes forth
in hope; the two may blur.

You have me on fire - not
in nerve endings, but from roots
and beginnings of them. The glow
shocks out into blue red flame,
in the aural effect of
your one true name I know.

Beyond ken, we can classify

all
these phenomena, but one day
we'll have them
to let go.

At least, we'll have
to try.

So let us be free
for this time we have left,
and let it command
what we wish to know.

For whatever turns true
is the only what we need,
and how is the only why.

And you

Are the only life I've found out
the knowing of which is worth more
than my own,

and I wish you to pry,
prize open and sound
beyond all doubt
all the secrets I have,
and am,

'til they've flown.