Visible Love
For K

Love begins in arc of daylight
that overwhelms the earth quickly;
gently the soul carries its own
heroes back to the origin.

Judgment opens love again
as an ordinary spell to cultivate
what is perfect as gardens glow
with an animated green, blue, and
crimson paint. Pleasure's skin dries
on fingertips to know that instant
when life completes in serene woods.

Most of what we knew was lost,
and what we came to know starts
up slowly and increase as that allure
we pronounce as great horizons stand
with sails placed at perfect height to water
and architecture strikes at sky with lover
at elbow to charge as titles of adventure
rip what we imagined from simpler facts
for metamorphoses and perhaps stagnation.

One is the foil to other, and we wait
to kiss each other as we refuse to breathe
again when we dive through deep water
to emerge with our feet kicking the past
away in the churn of legs and thighs.

K darts through space once upon
a time and gathers one soldier
and she leads him to righteousness.

She misses the whole mountain,
then falls softly in a hyperbolic curve
caressing the space between now
and then where nothing can pass
the axis, and we, she floats
within coordinated winds while
she stings and shapes startled
screams of desire marked in red
letters on a black sky. Fate is
indelible. It glows when K
gives voice to the fire inside
where she touches her skin
to enable fables to climb
broken branches, and we
new in her embrace drive
legs into snow boot prints
to mimic her steps, move
as she did, and lift up
we press pelvis to pelvis
drugged into eternal joy.

K shouts how she needs
new lands so she may step up
to her self and know how she
loved what she had written
precisely in soft books for journals
that kept truth in its own order.

Finally, she steps up to self at his
shoulders, carefully waiting
dressed in diaphanous ivory silk
each part of her body seen as love,
she startles quiet air and updrafts
swirl left and backward, right and
forward and she is perfectly tuned
with her head thrown back, and
thighs poised for pulse and resolution.

Love becomes the words became
the action of the mind on breath.
The delirium of new word drawn
on the paper grid and then nothing
for the final words have no lines, and
fixed space is lost when K touches
the poet in his longing for lyric scales.
He writes and she returns the words.
She sings and he echoes the poems.

When they are done, they are out
of breath and so full of glory nothing
can stop the range of their occasion.