Shining outward her sinews of vaporous Sun’s light,
Streams of ever spreading rivers.
It is She who grants the kiss, who bursts
In white-orb bloom slowly, Soft mists of Making
Where the subtle prepares a bed for brighter rays to grow.
But She, now she is lost, frozen in white snow,
Peaceful pillow of sleeping vaporous light, which fell once
In slow syrupy rain, a colony of waiting wombs..
And in moments when the thaw pierces her
still beating heart, a great cry echoes over the vast throes of
her sorrowful ocean. She, lost one still, in the snow.
Who then will be her rousing one, to softly wake her
With such yearning, within Golden arms of
Un-yielding Light?
Her Breath, sweet breath I have heard, heard it rushing
Over the earth’s budding in secret delight, heard it rousing
The Shadows to dance with her bright and blossoming Wishes
Perhaps it is her enticing whispering in frozen dreams,
To escort her at last, dear shadows, to the cavernous realms
Of Waiting’s Ballroom and Persephone’s rule.
Or does She wait for the greatest of all
To Open her eyes with a burst of Passionate Urging
More powerful and far-reaching, more glorious and eternal,
A kiss with a span un-knowable within these rushing webs,
These streaming waters and this white Snow.
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