Quiet light breaks the fields .
Played out a thousand
times untold .
Lost in the ceremony
of fire .

She stood naked in the hours
and wept with no tears .
Trying to make herself
invisible
beneath the thorns of the
rose .

Surreal in a moonless night .
Born to the world
in the light of a candle.
Surrounded by the quiet
verbs of kindness.

Her voice was without seasons
ringing bells not heard
in any church .
Waging war on emptiness,
darkness and
storms of despair.

She could make words
Sing or bleed ...
sometimes both .

She read my poetry like it
was her own private orchard
with fruit she couldn’t
wait to taste .

I knew there was a majestic
mountain
obscured by clouds of thunder.
Coastal tides shed their skins
and danced in the inland forest .
She seized onto the light
of her singularity
and finally brought
forth her tears .