Day 384: Where She Glows

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∴

she enters so effortless-smooth,
as though all her arrivals
were on well worn carpets –
red –
for how stately
she comes.

her hair is yellow and white,
soft,
yet contained
and you’d like to touch it,
it’s a lion’s mane,
and you know you could never.

but the capture really
is done with the eyes,
that flash with blue
and deep blue-green
like abalone patches
that catch in the sun,

that never look directly at you,
at least not long enough
to be satisfied.

but how could you be satisfied?
unless you swam in them
longer
than necessary
or wise.

and people would talk,
besides.

 

she just.

won’t.

speak.

 

but you stay silent
to make space
that she might,

speak.

 

because
o,
what would she say?

 

she’d say something,
you’re sure
that would alter you.

that would skew the world’s slant
and color your view
so that finally,
you’d see like all those
saints and mystics
that saw only beauty
in life.

 

so you wait.

 

but the door opens,
and you’re called,
and led away
to other rooms
and less worn carpets –
not red –

leaving her in that lambent light,
where she still sits,
and glows.

∴

 

 

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