She was not a woman but a world

She was not a woman but a world
of possibilities. A broad philosophy
spelled out in propositions, tangled language
resembling mystical paradox

from the East. I meditated on
what she was not: a single self, a girl
whose private existence did not contain
whole continents, rainbows and waterfalls,

the cries of seals, the dance of paradise
in falling leaves. I heard the sound she made
moving about. She wasn't woman but

a world that lived in me, a kingdom whose
bright wealth extends beyond the consciousness
of the wisest of Buddhas in the land.