Monday, February 27, 2012

In Her Dreams Of Spring

In her dreams of spring
She slithers between bushes underneath
The curve of Pisces

Curls up into herself like a tea leaf
To sleep in hollow trees

Deciphers the celestial Cyrillics
Into an alphabet of earth

Builds markers for her soul into a tower
Of cool marmoreal stones

Forgoes each last responsibility
For the grave chore of joy

Eats berries for each firefly she sees
Until her face and hands are smirched cerulean

Gossips with trees, and stops the gossip of
Young girls with urgent kisses

Digs her toes
Into the mud until she’s mucked with life

Grows horns and uses garter snakes for garters
While sipping wine from thimbled acorn shells
Collected from a feathered hat, that when
She whispers the right words in the bright tongue
Of stars, will turn her into a white raven

Who loves the sky

Who loves how small we are
And how it’s all connected and it’s not

The far incomprehensible design
And beauty of what has not yet appeared
But is, quintillions of light years away

Galaxies breathing, spinning, and collapsing--
Curling into themselves like bright tea leaves
To spin in hollow space

The perfect sense of the unknown, and how
The limitless cold distance of the stars
Makes her feel small and huge at the same time--

Like something insignificant as dust
And something so unique, the universe
Itself seems to have been created to

Create her.

Copyright 2012 Matthew J Wells

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