I trifled with the trouble of a poem today

I trifled with the trouble of a poem today,
All day lacing syllables or their lack,
Twisting word into word until words stayed,
Giving freely what my shyer soul held back.

How like words our awkward pauses stoop,
Saying “wait” like a falling leaf unshook;
That we might fall on even as we stop,
I'll write each love-look down in my love-book:

How our bodies wooed as wild water went,
How whiphand and hip undid innocence,
How love was more than what our lips had sent;
How what was was wasted reticence.

I listen to the dropped stone intone:
Silence says nothing between we two alone.