She is…
a peace profile
in sepia tones and
cotton candy dreams.
She is of crescent moons
golden curves and
star shine reflected in
half-open eyes of
REM sleep
digesting another day
on the apex of praise
attention, and even parody;
a knowing eye-twinkle at rest;
grace under any light
lunar or lampoon;
luminous
even among blackened
new moon night;
She is earthshine;
a crest of coral ocean foam
only hinting at the volume
of her riches within;
of permanent afterglow
guiding her acolyte home.
She is of resting face, lines
curving down at the corners;
not a frown, but layered
determined peace; a portrait
of meditative resolve
smoothed upon a
capricious landscape.
She is a cosmos
unto herself
but even she has
her breaking point;
she greets me at her center,
with shoulders slumped;
her horizon curves
back onto me,
and I learn of the depths
of my own strength
holding heaven aloft
with only my two frail arms
and everything I am
The nature of things is that
I am and she is.
But often I am
because she is.
Occasionally I am
so that she is.
***
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 