Morning Love-Ramblings
The Grrl in the Moon
Has brought her pale luminous presence
To brighten my Cancerian nest,
And this Moonchild's soul
Stirs, smiles, comforted by her gentleness.
A rare mix of theatrical flair and deep real nurturing,
Of soaring dreams and detailed practicality
Of polite indignant activism and quiet understanding--
My Moon-Woman is the well of my soul's deepest nourishment.
Together we build a home strung
Of spider-threads laced to Moonbeams:
I, and this wonder who reads to my children (and me) at bedtime,
Who holds me, dreams with me, works with me,
Who hears my most hidden secrets without judgement,
Who loves me in my imperfection,
Who believes in me and then helps me to prove her belief justified.
She is, truly, a miracle.
And so I wake at dawn,
Lying beside her in magical twilight,
Watching the even rise and fall of her breathing,
Memorizing the beloved lines of her face, her body,
In awe that I am so privileged,
And through my wandering loving thoughts
Float words of deepest soul-passion,
Words that speak at once of the fires kindled in my soul by her presence,
And of the calming she brings to my watery, earthy, starlit self--
Words that, with greater daylight,
Will rise with me and dance through my fingers into excited-electron form,
And thus lend a kind of permanence to my driftings.
Michelle, my miracle.
A miracle, my Michelle.
Tuesday, August 8, 2000, 07:53:41
Return to the Library.
Return to the Front Door.
E-mail me at Weavre@graffiti.net