Cindy

Heart of honey, melting in the heat of the South
Without knowing where the drops of gold are falling.
It saw the doves in bloom
And the park like the milk of Romulus
But it cannot know what it wants to hold.

Her. The mirror in the grass.
Her. Recognized by sky and earth.

She lives in a verdant dance
Yet when the heart sees her
She is wrapped in a skirt of worms,
And the heart breaks like a winter night.
The strings of love's harps
Snap before being touched.

Spring blooms in her voice,
Turning to thorns upon reaching
The third vein. Osiris without eyes.

The ecstasy of desire
Entwines the beast of instant mourning:
The heart cannot tell them apart;
Who will tell it, that she is alive?

When the dreams of infant pines
Leave her hair of stars, the roots burn,
Spreading their ashes far away
From Europa's lullabies.

What does the soul have to say?
"I am the breeze I inhale."

She needs to be lived to reclaim life:
Away from the senses she is an absence
That threatens to turn the heart
Into a river spreading out
To the sea of black tears.

The first meeting was the last farewell
Her epitaph was her handshake.

Some distant sea, of Cali or Venus
Will love her in the cradle of her name.
The 4th of July will keep her warm
And the heart mourns from far away.