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Her hands are a mystery
If you look at them, you see his light
But if you look into them, you feel a consciousness of their own.

Their spirits embrace at a single moment
and all Time and all Trees pray
for them.

But the peach trees stand still; silent
They witness the reincarnation of his dreams
Chaos, absolute seedless chaos
A peach drops and dies.

In the darkness, the peach is unseen
Only eyes question death
Flooding, flooding, flooding
Only twelve million answers

Ravenous stars light the sky
by hunger for only their answer
But enlightenment is encrypted
in Latin and all the languages
of the world.
And her conscience is full and sleeps.

Who’s to blame her?
A vision of red may only wander
And wonder she is.
In China, dragons dance to their unheard
secret.

Oh, but the owls know.
Within their ocean of a soul
bathe the greatest whales
eating oranges.
They grow oranges in their minds
to keep the sun jealous.

Zealously, the gods blow
new passion every morning
Her suprasternal notch ignites
His lips bloom twelve roses
And all clocks stop, and fly

Yet their fusion reeks
Confusion lasting a few weeks
and a painting
A painting of stones born
by their bedside every time they
hug; free

Free love ceases to be a myth
It blinds an entire universe
into entropy for eternity

Her magic, as free, is trapped
in books and lost music
His breath, as lost, cradles
every word
The elephants walk through mirrors
into her

Her blue shirt falls apart
A heart beat crying, squanders
Every button, hiding the moon
A pomegranate seed as red as her vision

Her hands are a mystery
If you touch them, you
feel him, in all sadness and grace
You journey into space.

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