She moves just like the ocean moves, her step
divides the water. I can know the waves
that play upon the surface of the sea,
the way a sense is divined of these words.
The milky white of calf then thigh—I see
the liquid receive her, communicate
her movements in a ripple. A white foam
adorns and ornaments the gulf she is,
gives definition to her. I had stopped
to see her bathe her body there, the clothes
fell in the water slowly. It's the space
between her and the dress where all the air
my song vibrates is found. Merely remove
it and the mystery is then revealed.
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