#The_Dream I met her as a blossom on a stem, before she ever breathed, and in that dream the mind remembers from the deeper sleep, eye learned from eye, cold lip from sensual lip, my dream divided on a point of fire, light hardened on the water where we were, a bird sang low, the moonlight sifted in, the water rippled, and she rippled on. She came toward me in the flowing air, a shape of change, encircled by its fire I whatched her there, between me and the moon, the bushes and the stones danced on and on, I touched her shadow when the light delayed, I turned my face away, and yet she stayed, a bird sang from the center of the tree, she loved the wind because the wind loved me, and enjoyed the song by the bird which made her dance. Love is not love untill loves vulnerable, she slowed to sight, in that long interval, a small bird flew in circles where we stood, the deer came down, out of the dappled wood, all who remember, doubt, who calls that strange? I tossed a stone, and listened to its plunge, she knew the grammar of least motion, she lent me one virtue, and I live thereby. She held her body steady in the wind, our shadows met, and slowly swung around, she turned the field into a glittering sea, I played in flame and water like a boy, and I swayed out beyond the white seafoam, like a wet log, I sang within a flame, in that last while, eternitys confine, I came to love, I came into my own.
Posted on: Fri, 03 Oct 2014 10:05:47 +0000
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