She

She is.
Simply is…
The fig on the other side of complexity
That we would trade for our lives.

She is
The pulse and cadence,
The Poetry of it all,
The resonating language of Life
So powerful it need only
Whisper.

She
Is the saccade
Elegant and between,
A caryatid beneath our feet.

She is
Creation, the mirror’s glass
The one side, arist
The other, holy lover –
Our Awareness.

She
Is an epic poem
Within which we are words
And She the silence
Redolent with the lilt of what will.

She is music.
The figure on the page
The breathe that releases it.
And the rest, poised.
The harmony and balance,
Violinists matching bows
The priesthood of the conductor
The Awareness of his flock
And the audience met in their seats.

She is a river within an ocean
Gusting in fury
Or lolling, sprawled under the sun.
Colliding,
Commingling and edgeless
Begging a dip of our fingers.

She is
Charged.
Radiant in all directions,
Lambent on all planes
Exciting to resonance
All that couple with Her.
The empyreal honey
Where histories are kept.

And She is a lover
Teaching at Her parted knees
Grateful that we sip from Her cup
‘Til it overflows
And drinking us each
In turn.

She is an exhale
In the afterglow
And She is voltaic Lust
And Its wetness
And the fermata’s promise.

She is here.
Now.
Present and Aware,
A virtuoso of this moment,
Shared.

She is.
She simply is.