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Queen of Meadows
Bright as white gowns wondrous—
And her wise sacral heart
Embraced to destiny pure.
This face widows shimmered fawns—
Speechless in that killing,
To break from tender youth:
Reborn as altars in her crescent beauty,
Reached blind to lost flames
Ancient in this wearied hart;
And where has my music been?
Her soft features feminine
In songlines fastly stolen
By strands of her dark amber locks
That screamed of comet-chased stars—
As she rose forever regal on that riverbed,
And nature’s very streams shook at her hands:
This matriarch of acoustic grace
And she speed me to sounds
Without use for unprophetic words cluttered—
But I surrendered, yes, to her symphonies,
Her deepest laws unbroken.
And I crashed upon her meadowland.
A figure soaring, beating passionate
As a flickering flame alone
Inside her awe-bent hands,
And she knew my face angelical!
