poem, 2009

Finding You

Dew trickled up my legs,
to the clouds, before the day warmed and sweat.
‘Shall we head to the water hole?’ ‘Let’s!’
The day burned to speak of You.

There stood beauty,
purity.
Placid flesh, divinity –
she threaded the water, stitching You.

Cream flesh through gray silk,
body slick as silt.
Though Devil tried, no flower would wilt,
as she wrote poetry to You.

Out of the water she shouldered the weight
of the breeze drying her grace.
Her form, delicate and chaste,
took no effort to praise You.

She asked why I stood dressed.
I explained, “I’m shy,” and the rest.
She reached, unbuttoned my thoughtless vest;
told me, our bare selves liken to You.

‘Are not the trees raw?
Does not the night thaw?
Is nature not law?
I abide,' said she. ‘What say you?’

* * *

She chuckled for my naivete;
cried, ‘We ought to live life joyously!’
In her gentle hand she took me,
smiled, ‘Come! I will show you.’

We escaped to a meadow.
Sun had sunk and damp moon followed.
Fireflies flickered and glowed.
Bare as palms, we raised, and I saw You.