By Dark Angel
Date: 4 February 2001
The gift
Somewhere
between the Pleides
and the nebula in Orion's leg
in our discussion
I realized our gift.
We weave with words
the fabric of our fates
the texture of our feelings
into a form at last
that someone else can share.
We were talking
and our descriptions
of what we saw and felt
became a verbal painting
that each of us saw
more clearly than the stars
themselves.
The form, or lack of it
meant nothing
As when we pour out
the centers of our souls
and another human heart
can see and say and sigh
My god..I understand.
Is there anything more pure
than the reeling expression
of our joy when we love?
Is there anything more achingly clear
than the broken crystal pain
cutting in the throat and chest
expressed by one young woman
to an otherwise unseeing world?
Will the meter matter
if expressed at last
is the curve of that
tender breast
that perfect cheeck
and someone else
understands
and is moved?
There may be critics among us..
clinical and cutting at times
in their search for perfection
but let them be.
What does it matter how the rise
of the moon is expressed,
in what meter, in what style
as long at it was told
by one to another
how it shown and sparkled
in that gentle lover's eyes?
Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner