Soulful Woman

I have fallen short of sound
in losing language,

where word beats word
in scratching glass,

as branch on window
warning wind to stop in breathing
today's ineptness,

and chastise clatter
into submission,
apart from Nature's picture,
perfect,

her world of renewal,
sipping cup of velvet dew
as green holds blue in azure arms
in quaking aspen shining shimmer,

away from random rhetorical question,
or resolve to rent another retreat
and hide from resolution.


And there, life is,

as sight to sound,
my soulful tribute
for one who knows beyond cliché,

those sighs to sing
in hum to tongue,

as search in honesty and passion
in titillating tone to know her name
in terraced treasure, more of kindness
than measured breath.


I have walked my path, to wet,
in shallow well,

were drop bares sand in desert season
as sponge to dry,
and curl on counter

as moon without her light to phase,
so not to know
of swell or swallow
in soaking knowledge
to where is wonder.


If I could rise in eastern yawn,
and rub my aching eyes,

pressing night's return to lonesome crater
through lunar lotion
as sweet forgiveness
made from tear
and misplaced fear that time was over,

I would rise in love's emotion
joining hand to glow entwined
with every dream I dared when young,
and sever notion from cloudy skin,

I tried to hold instead of you,


so I could find in pillow's feather,
your secret wing

of soulful woman.