In All, In All Poem by Peter Jones

In all, in all, in coming then;
you come in grace
to walk down one fine morning.
And I shall gentle you in all,
and I shall gentle you.

Held in crinolines of light
that shape you all in all;
your kingdom comes
from somewhere else,
startled in the silence;
and waiting for my voice to call
and waiting for my call.

Summer then was somewhere else;
a mirror seeing you
with blind eyes brighting.
And still you come
and, coming still to see
a seeing of no great consequence,
you came on all in all,
you came on all in all.

Hold softly then to your estate
in all in all, and in your turn
you gentle me;
lightly felt and comely.
Do not recall in coming then
the place from where you came.
The road is lost behind those eyes
and will never come again...
and, all in all,
can never come again.