Every love’s written herself – she’d say, I saw you pull back into your own world and all I wanted was to be in that world with you.
With her collapsed the world, wrought hand to pen and brought night apart sunset. And on your worst night, the best work. Your thoughts had endless reach – loved touched eternity to pen. And color love mild. Your thoughts had hands, stringing the filigree if the stars. Finding meaning in nonexist. And in the vessel pen – something, someone in you saying – it’s enough, only to breathe. To breathe breath of not your own
For the ancient wells, rises with a light bucketed from the deep. So the eyes can drink – a loose and sensical translation – of infinite reach.
And in that potion’s spell, love could settle. Corporal floating on the surface of mixing waters. Where stars glide along the milk face, ripple with each breath, creating new constellations.
Call it what the sea needs, the eye beauty needs, a word a work or sentence that speaks. Eternal to the presently.
Had all of one word found wakeful sleep – that meaning of the deep. There’d been passing worth of the moment.
She could speak to all! The unseen, the intangible, the every soul. So we sing of connection in the most worldly thing – be it hands in hair, a delicate portrait, not losing the feeling in looking in and by – the color, of, a lover’s eye.