orange dress makes the woman

a girl, motherhood sweet smile

makes the eyes sing gentle music

while lips perform gracious curves

and a pert nose is deliciously

embedded in that sappho face

like lemons and peaches all

rolled into at least one

full bodied poem, fruit-

like and baby adorned picture

of health with that rare

quality called youth speaks

volumes about australian travel

astral planes, jungian art...

perhaps the saffron robes of

india stride here between

calypso traces incandescent races

read the lines of homer

or ulysses irish-driven

faces of ancient hearts beat

relentless rhythms catatonically.

this pretty number rubs rudely

into spring carrying the

carefree correspondence of

creation written like a light,

a bolt of lightening flying

fiery, searing the cobalt blue

heavens with scorched anonymity.

this woman wakes in me

the inspiration of joy and

miracle birth making ellipses

moon-like and iridescent

crests of waves luminous by

a special magic play on words

not shadowy by innuendo yet

subtle steps are dancing, flowing

in the flower which blooms to

open magenta images, petals

cast wide a smiling wanton

listlessness yet rests a while

the lusts of deep red hollows

following the ring of emptiness.