Breathing Again

Her vibrant passion

touches me
like a run-away flash flood
longing to be a meandering stream.

Her voice
has the timbre of a past life remembering,
sharing its soft echo of utterance

like a weeping willow's winter lament.

She walks
enigmatic paths unknown to most,
ushering my hand forward
with her woman/child’s innocence made real.

When sleeping
with whispering breath,
she weaves thatched covering
to protect my storm-filled dreams.

Upon my awakening…

When my mind begs the heart calm,
knowing another day’s dawning

may once again render my spirit

fearful of the glaring day's reality,

she embraces me,
stroking my cheek with assurance
that there be no enlightenment out there
not already resplendent within me.

How unique her restorative power,

this quiet caress of understanding

affording so much healing of my once suffocating inner self.

Oh, this breathing again.  Nirvana.