Quiet light breaks the fields
played out a thousand
times untold .
Lost in the ceremony of fire .
She stood naked in the hours
and wept with no tears .
Trying to make herself
invisible
beneath the thorns of the
Rose .
surreal in a moonless night .
Born to the world
in the light of a candle .
Surrounded by the quiet
verbs of kindness .
Her voice was without seasons .
Ringing bells not heard in any church .
Waging war on emptiness,
darkness and storms of
despair.
She can make words
sing or bleed ....
sometimes both .
She reads my poetry like it is
her own private orchard
with fruit you can’t wait
to taste .
She can warm the hearts of
people born to stone .
I knew there was a
majestic mountain
obscured by clouds of thunder .
Coastal tides shed their skins
and danced in the inland forests .
She seized onto the light
of her singularity
and finally brought forth
her tears .