Mother of spirits, of music-babes

dreamed pure as breath of secret dawns,

your flesh-eyes are the spinning lights

of Gemini. And your far-seeing third eye

the whispering planet of Venus.

With hips like Africa’s rocking cradle

and breasts like sun-ripened roses

you lie dreaming in the desert,

the diamond-cleansed milk of your soul

giving strength to infant voices,

the star-nourished fruit of your visions

squeezing overripe poems out of ancient prayers.

In my ring of kef I step back

to cold Christmas mornings when heat shed my flesh
to rhythms of my love for you.

We danced a cosmic dance wild and divine

and you were the song I always sang best.

I was the spell of burning tongues

you most loved to cast––

the sweet and the sweet, you and I,

slowly seducing time’s fascination with itself.

Almost immaculate. Almost angels.

Within our blessed embrace

Love giggled and shined tirelessly,

always eager

to give her perfectly flawed self

to her other perfectly flawed self.

Aberjhani

(author of I Made My Boy Out of Poetry)

© 12/20/2005