poem 2

There is a place suddenly within where
The heart constantly blossoms, beckons
Like the roll and tender fall of each curl
Of your hair; I am an open window and
Through me you might reach your self.
An army has surrendered inside me; your face,
Your fingers unfolding, a cold winter
Parting. The tiny, fragile web of eye-meet
Opening herself to the sunrays and the dawning
Quietness; Helpless beauty, unscared, awakening
To the minute moment, overspilling with union.
Even stones may soften slowly and reveal
Their vast contents and endless waking Love
And this is why openly I disappear for you.

D Anderson 2008