flat.fish.flesh

Unfettered so unmeasured joy
is by its nature innocent
and ever young, just like the boy.
A mystery prize, though ready spent.

Can daily grief articulate
the count of love so ready meant,
then add the lines and calculate
the final sum of that which went?

As since there be no written mark
with which to gauge his handsome height,
the eye of love need not be clerk
to weigh what’s clearly in its sight.

And in this finite field of ours
there sure resides unbounded space,
the silent smile that age devours,
not hemmed by either hour or place.