I make music to praise her and to seal
our love within a song that will proclaim
her beauty endlessly. Nothing can conceal
the brilliance she encompasses. I aim
to play skillfully, to revere and to save
the images she grants me: how she helps
me shout for joy! O how the birds gave
their simple songs to the air, how the pulp
of fruit was gathered! I have only faith—
no knowledge and no reason—in her shape
and its mysterious dance. I make love with
her in the shade and color of the landscape
that rolls beyond the bayou. In a psalm
I praise her breast and open up my palms.
No comments:
Post a Comment