Apr. 26th, 2004 05:23 pm
tylik: (Default)
It wouldn't do, to come on strong,
to dive right in to that well
of gravity. Hesitate instead
a bit aside from her orbit,
and let her see you admiring
the depths and brilliance of her oceans.
Sit awhile, and bask together,
in silent companionship,
in the light of that sun, and when
she turns to you, complement her
on the moon.

Go to her slowly, wait until
you feel her pull, and even then choose your pace,
delicately passing the outermost veil of atmosphere,
watching her features emerge,
strong and elegant ridges of mountains,
severe sweep of desert,
and her deep green forests, and rounded hills,
let your hand reach, just for a moment,
tracing that curve in the air, before
recollecting your courtesy.
She will see it, and wonder.

On her dark side ask her, softly,
about whalesong. Let your fingers
brush the wall of this shadowed canyon,
working your way down to the river
that has worn them smooth (for she is
no longer young, ages are upon her,
layer after layer of treasure
and mystery.) Gently push aside
a vine that has fallen across the path,
leaving it behind with a caress
to seek the water.

And later, sit on that beach,
dreaming of the river
you followed until it carried
you, into the sea.
Watching the sky glow first deepest blue,
then silver, then that first delicate waking blush,
that carries with it the distant cry of birds.
Running your fingers through the sand,
and feeling the waves
lapping your feet.
again, and again.

Copyright Catherine Kehl 2004, please don't reproduce without permission, even if I am leaving it unlocked ;-)

(It's also rather drafty.)


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