I can feel her love the way I feel the desert winds
of a tangerine evening hurling off the mountains
as they reach for the end of the summer solstice.

She sings beneath the bridge of god.

Oh, how spirits that make the nature of whispers
known to my fleshly ears dance to her innocent voice.

I can see her crown among the thorned rose vista,
****** by her favoring tobacco musk,
and it cascades about the once savage lands
of the wanning moon.

Her crown is redolent
with the astral fragerence of eden.

I have walked past the dawn
and gazed upon the serpent of the sea,
it has been raised only to bow before her loving words.

Oh, what peace she brings,
and how effortlessly I see the maiden,
for I must hear her
sing beneath the bridge of god.