O! Glorious woman of many Passions!
You, who knows no mediocrity
Nor shows no inconstancy!
Joyful, your dancing footfalls,
like those of a five year old child
on Christmas morning
coming in to a just-lit fire
that crackles and thaws
the chill of snowman-building
But this merry fire can so easily
be fanned into a wild blaze of fury
destroying without circumspection
all that you encounter
leaving only burnt-out trunks of beings
and piles of warm ash
This ash and the remaining embers
you douse with the tears
of your profound sorrow,
like a murky bottomless lake
on a grey January day
unforgivingly alone.
Until the sun mercifully befriends you
on a serene april morning
you lap gently at your shores
reflecting the thruth of azure skies
content to be who
and where you are.
I would be a late spring wind
playfully ruffling your surface
and intrigued, caressing you
coaxing you to rolling swells
teasing youto deeper undulations
growing bolder and encouraged
I'd desire the culmination
of your passions--peaking, cresting
crashing down, pounding your shores
then washing over both of us.
I'd learn from you
to live passionately.
11-6?-94
On to the Next Poem
Back to the Poetry Page