“In order to create there must be a dynamic force, and what force is more potent than love?”
-Igor Stravinsky
Then, a woman from the wilderness.
She meanders over curiously
to haunt me with deceptive glares cascading
over the living embers between us.
Shift, the moon casts momentum on the shadows.
Soon she will begin the rite of spring
interpreted as a steady matador with a troubadour
composing a violent dance past finesse.
Onward, firefly dances amidst the smoking pine.
There she is weaving a path of ash
during the flotsam landing on magpies
who sit on nearby branches as silent voyeurs.
Twilight, the grey morning bruised dull
from the soft cracking coals that smell of sulfur.
Give me one more tomorrow night, feral gypsy.
Give me one more lush breeze to breath.
Give me one more primitive trance to vanish
into the nirvana sea of satisfaction
surrendering the you and me.
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