Sonnet XIV

...and us! Of all experiments we made—
(when you had set up such a happy howl,
and then you pressed my tears into your face)—
the fiercest had us leaning cheek by jowl.

The falling was a quiet sort of gift,
a knowingly unknowing way to wend;
the going on was splendid in its thrift,
with words that went on crosswise to the end.

The walking was a way of standing still;
the twining was a way of spinning free;
the talking was a wayward sort of thrill,
and doing was another way to be.

The growing was the only way we grew:
the knowing was the only way we knew.