She rises
Neptune’s daughter from the deep
warming to the movements of a symphony
for an instant poised in Botticellian style
butterfly nymphs windmilling her hair
cascading over her shoulders no longer bare
water droplets hugging her breasts and lips
tinted with the whisper of a smile.
The rising sun keeps peeping
from behind the drifting clouds
over the lips of rounded mounds,
early rising dawn blinking, blushing in Flamingo skies.
Deep within me springs forth Tartini’s trill.
I like the way she moves and still
shrouded in Eden’s misty gown
she slips atop the bosom of mother earth
in hues of Sappho’s blue and Ireland green
water cascading in crescendos from her hips.
Within his forge deep in Averno’s mouth
Vulcan grumbles and rumbles over Venus’ love affairs
while he molds a virgin shape
licked by the tongues of the ambers all aglow with fire.
She is coming. She is coming.
She is coming along Bolero’s path,
whispering within the language of her maidenhood,
harp-strummed notes skipping pianissimo around her feet.
Nature’s rondoing within me
Eden’s language of yore.
My heart strings drumming in syncopations in Fantasia Land,
my dreamhead cycloning in whirlpools of Eden land.
I listen and strain to hear but fail to
fathom the song of her maidenhood.
But I like the way she moves,
something in the way she moves (me).
Vulcan’s hammer now clangs louder and louder
faster and faster the amber fire reaching higher and higher
finally erupting, climaxing in a volcanic cloud,
the echo of Vulcan’s hammer thunders across the sky.
Drifting now
drifting drifting
into the twinkling twilight,
the sun preparing its goodbye
fading into the shadows
snatching arpeggios from her feet
her footfalls diminuendoing echos in the mist
of my sleep which I embrace in delight of
liking the way she moves.
– April 26, 2006
