To her, a tiny infinity- mostly for reasons unknown,
a dominant archetype or the flowers of her world alone.

Words, jumping out like
waterfalls. And her
realms of unimaginable light
and blur.

To her, a friend; for minnows of metaphors
an uniformity sustaining shamanic storms.

I say not, that I say for,
these neurotic impulses unfolds-
triggers of psychic lore.
Eyes, smiles, and yes
the atmosphere,
her atmosphere (adored).

To her, a beautiful soul. A privilege, must I say
is to know her. Things said, some untold,
cherished by the sky, of matters
unknown.

May be this envelop of culture,
might not understand all the language spoken.
Magical structure explored. Wind whistles-
for inexorably unfolding souls.

To her, the nexus of time and space
for whom the universe moulds.