She and me

From the clarity of being, she dances.

Lifting the stars in the palm

Of her pretty hand, clad in

Light of diamond and gold,

A flame illuminates her features,

A fire of sapphire blue and floral violet,

Green and… what is that color?

I have no name for it.

Her candle flame has been lit

Long than recorded memory,

Defiant and true,

Illumination to the depravity and fear

That has grown in aeons still young.

“Despair not,” it seems to say,

“I’ve got you. You will not be a victim of this

Madness. Your heart is too strong, too light.”

And light it is indeed, especially when you

Behold her tresses of hair,

Sunlit by a foreign star, and silvery silken,

Her curls touching what we call “another earth.”

So long that they weave over the hills and beyond,

Transforming here and there

To whatever nature demands;

She acquiesces with grace to growing moss and bird nests,

To vines of green grapes and iridescent gusts of wind,

So adaptable is she.

“I am within!” she cried once,

When you asked for her hand in everlasting love.

“You have me already, but constantly overlook me.

We are already in love, dearest. You have simply

Forgotten.”