Friday, January 12, 2007

She Paints Over Her Own Beauty

She comes fully clothed
like snow painted
on deep blue.

I am
much too heavy
for my heart to bear.

I jump out
of a green pool;
a seal remembering
drowning eyes.

But let me talk of before.
Of reflected images
in the sharp blade
of Her loveliness.

I recall
mounting a wild horse
all night and day
until She offered up
Her meadow to be flooded.

Now wherever
this bud of desire opens
She forms the fragrance.

She paints over Her own beauty.
While I have become only snow
falling into Her deep blue.