59

A little East of Jordan,
Evangelists record,
A Gymnast and an Angel
Did wrestle long and hard—

Till morning touching mountain—
And Jacob, waxing strong,
The Angel begged permission
To Breakfast—to return—

Not so, said cunning Jacob!
“I will not let thee go
Except thou bless me”—Stranger!
The which acceded to—

Light swung the silver fleeces
“Peniel” Hills beyond,
And the bewildered Gymnast
Found he had worsted God!

Your brown eyes could glow an eternity
Setting entire galaxies into flames
Your phases of the moon changed perfectly
As an eclipse rushed through your pastel veins

And then, sadness would trickle down us face
All of a sudden, building a terror
Inside of me that I cannot erase
Who knew nebulas contain lavender

However, your constellations still shined
Even when the sky wreaked havoc upon earth
And your sanity was never aligned
You really are more than you think you're worth

If only I could see your ember soul
Once more, my fuschia heart would be more whole

~Amanda S.

Once more the cauldron of the sun
Smears the bookcase with winy red,
And here my page is, and there my bed,
And the apple-tree shadows travel along.
Soon their intangible track will be run,
And dusk grow strong
And they have fled.

Yes: now the boiling ball is gone,
And I have wasted another day….
But wasted—wasted, do I say?
Is it a waste to have imagined one
Beyond the hills there, who, anon,
My great deeds done,
Will be mine alway?