I'm watching the light that covers her, looking at her
legs, the backs of her knees, her toes and ankles
in the morning light. I want to paint the bather
in the foggy morning bayou, to envelop her
loving being in colors. The water moves higher
as afternoon advances, see the blankets that cover
her breasts and hips. I imagine myself as calligrapher
of her movement in scripts, I observe the dancing
of her muscle under veils. I will love her whether
it's rational or not, whether the verse is in meter
or some other brief pattern. I would much rather
be in her, have her be the resplendent light
that is defining me than move without her.
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