.
Who could possibly create the frame you do?
Through your sweetly organized arrangement
my eyes understand again exactly why they see.
The flicks and licks of light around the sides of you
do arabesques for me – summer-night al-fresco
tricks of sight in which each hologrammic piece evokes
the dazzling whole. Your shadow wings around
the center of whatever I could ever want to look at:
sings a barcarole: flings my love up like a baby in
a doting father’s arms: wields excruciating charms:
provokes the soul. I wonder how you fill this hole:
immanent as rhythm through the body from the heart:
drum-roll in a movie: you are careless, perfect Art:
a tremor in the blood, assimilating every feeling in
its stream. I wonder why I ache so in this dream.
.
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