(I
love for glow of diamonds. Thereby sun would
morph,
slanting reality.) I touched by orchid
—she
cried, “Deeply slain!” Such is our deepest
Sorrow,
to wrestle and capture wounded verse. We died to
dual
voices, alive—a medium sin, trespassing.
Scripture
echoed, trekked turquoise sky: our hearts
pitching
flame. A daisy is morphing: aqua-
blue
prayers, tickling Mother’s ears. We fix or
transcend,
an owl from transformation. I love her by
other
reasons: the pith of drugs. We dance obsession,
as
wild as gorillas. I see her—by christic blurs:
we
nurture rites. Our center seats, spinning
bowls:
or owls come fire—sweet visibility. Indeed,
sipping
linen—by room-fraught fears.
