In a slinky black dress,
heels and a drink
her terribly seductive
monologue
worked the room

The theater roared
with audience applause
upon curtain call

He felt at a loss,
when he recalled
how she used to perform
exclusively,

for him

His plane sailed into a milk-white sky,
white mare's tails spiraling in pale water.
Mind and time became elastic as he
vanished away and then returned.
I look for days like this in winter,
with hints of soft sunshine
and opalescent clouds.
Sometimes the harshest season
is the kindest, and paints a scene
that soothes artist and lover,
when wishing hands part the cloth
of reality with dream.
Or when the earth itself
Seems to remember soft interglacials
And seasons seemingly spun
Like cotton candy to soothe
The wounds inflicted by us.
Earth is like the mother spider,
eaten by its young.

Queen Fathima—the Queen of Heaven—
tones down her rose-red color,
lending nature a cool spark.

Boom—it fires up the Big Bang!

So she shades her hue,
puts on her black niqab,
so that in her shadow, nature may flower.

Now the full-blown Scientia—nature itself—
is beyond every hand’s touch,
every eye's full grasp,
yet forever searching
for their Queen—everywhere.

You can paint infinity
on a set of plates
that lay here before me,

share a season’s story
leaving out what is gory.

You can dance in skewed
perspectives,
make rainbows cry
while a little child
staves off this painted rain.

You can make manifest
the spirit over which
you give dominion
to all who live in
this little world.

Let lovers walk
from pools reflecting
many shades
that illuminate
the end of days.

Can take the infinitude
of every instance
that made you, you
and summarize it
in multiple tints
of blue;

Take the beauty
and wonder of
a stranger’s face
lit by inspiration
as she reads
by a windowpane,

while I can take apart
and break the art
you made with your heart,
to write this silly little poem.