◢ 08. [POEM]

My sweet, the midnights whisper your name
in voices of oily down, your feather
hair of finches, dancing fields,
is a sigh from the softest throat
the most strawberry tongue

the trees call for you, my slender Venus,
the leaves turn for you
your feet are Mother’s orange clay
your calves are the gentle golden fields
the hills of a thousand Indian summers

ancient goddess, pretty thing
the sun is within you
the moon in her splendor

my love! in giving, how like a mother
in love, how like a child
in radiance, how divine
in perfection, how you inspire romance
and cure the aching heart

should you vanish into the dancing waves
the earth will own my breath
and my feet will touch the darkest sand