The Words and Bliss

I lose myself within her as in a maze, In her short verses, in her silences, And hurry to set upon paper Ideas that float through my imagination. I approach her flaws and imperfections As I would her freckles, without which her face lies bare. And though she too, at times, surrenders To the laws of nature, I believe in her as I believe That winds which blow Are more than movements of air, And heartbeats are words of a poem, Surely more than a muscle spasm. I feel her vertebrae, From the first that escaped my memory To the tallest one still awaiting me. And sometimes her beauty is a heavenly rainwater firth, Like windward particles in breath, While my words; awkward half-tones of earth. My dead-end road, I grieve the shortness of the page. And if privileged to write of you but three words in all, Bliss, Bliss, Bliss. It has no end.