In the silence surrounding her she harbors solace,
with a candle burning her imagination and intuition is churning,
She scribes through the hours of the night to reason with the jigsaw of jargon outlined before her.

A scholar defying the norm,
a messy bun with a few strands undone,
that's the mark of her intellect,
it's the crown she carries.

I wanna let it steep.
Dipping into your hot water,
I find that primal sounds
impulsively pour through my teeth.

I'm turgid with palpable greed.
I'll take anything you're offering me,
I'll take everything I want
and everything that I need.

I wanna let it steep.
Tongues and strong teas,
I can't stand it too weak.
Two lumps and a splash of cream.

Stirred up in tangible relief,
tangled and twisted colors
all racing and swirling together
in-between my sheets.

This morning I watch
knitted clavicles of light
hurtle in and up the wall
in my half-packed
living room, while cubes
of fresh spring hew
strongholds in the
birded birch yard.
But I am ready to leave
all of it for the ruptured
gray weeks, the rain lash,
the fog bars, the burnt sea,
the little tilts of rainbow -
for her - would she have me?

Let me tell you
about the holly
out the left window,
how it flashes
with silver hilts of sun,
mint buckles
in the afternoon -
I want to share
this with you.
Most of my thoughts
don't reach you anymore -  
annihilated quite gently
by various kinds
of distance.
But in the strange chance
you cross the glass wall
& find these words:
you are adored
more than any holly,
any silver, any sun.