White hands, white fingertips skim over our eyes. In
Heats of fever, she who never sinned, twists us all
Into beating hearts. Like lambs we taste no more blood
Drips on our tongues, bound though we are. Bright Virgo
Our lady of starry mantles, we struggle, flutter open
Our bonds, peering out of weak eyes as we wake. Over,
She swims in light, white half-light of first skies.
Above, she prints her movements on morning, bends her
Golden head, candle-crowned. These soft shinings pry
Apart our dull eyes. Now she walks the woods, draws dim
Waters of springs in wave after wave, melting in light,
Into green leaves. What's left of glowing greenery. In
Hazy stillness our fingers, bone and claw, clutch this
Clear weirdness of dream, leaf after leaf. Fevers of
Verdure gather skin, feather, fur as one, solid, soiled
Twisting, like mossy streams, like green snakes. Secret
Spasms along toes, ankles, tops of feet. In venom, in
Poison, we touch one another's hair, stroke locks back
From moist foreheads, resurrect into darkness, into
The dark and cold secret hollows of her hovering star.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem