She moves in moments,
There’s a rhythm to it
That vibrates deep against my soul
I see her in and through roseglasses
She’s in and outside
Of touching and reaching,
There’s these certain moments
When I can see faint clouds (her breathing)
She walks in beauty,
Past and o’er the paths
Of all common words and shapes
I try to talk it up, stammering
She’s striding canvasses
Of joys and the sorrows,
Each have colors I can’t name
Or small shapes I’d like to borrow
She’s the echo-well,
I can shout words and wishes
And hear them go resounding
Unreaching, unknowing then silent
