She dreams in aqua blue,
seasons melting into one another,
dancing among fallen leaves
or beneath the golden sun,
     her fiery green eyes shimmering
     like emeralds in a jewelry store case,
     skin like water running through  fingers,
     dancing, dancing,
hands thrown to the sky
casting rainbows like ribbons
to celebrate the dawning of her joy.

As an ice River flower
The locals
Say it was from the gods
And goddesses
Of the Himalayan
Mountain
For each peak
Is the home of either.
So when you see a river
Think where it came from

Through the rivers and the rain
   My emotions seep

No matter how far I reach
   How quiet I be
      Or how fervently I wish
      For this condensated heart to dry

Beneath stars and moonlight vain
   I stay
      Locked in the garden of perpetual being
         Without your warmth of certain meaning

And when the new morning comes
   With the quiet thought
      I realize what I had always ought

That I cannot seem to make you mine
   Regardless of the place or time

Alstroemeria, Southern-rooted watcher of the skies,
Angel tongues of Peru, with your ******-blushed annunciation
Or Incan-hued sacrificial fire.
So much like the moon tongues of all rivers in first frost or first harvest.  

Like first love, first death is the truest form,  
And blooms in scorn of all its many-mirrored rivers to come.