seeing

she may see you as a butterfly or a bird
flying, flying away, flying down to earth
or as a leaf, hesitating to leave its only home,
is teased about by the wicked playful winds
until mighty winter’s eyes begin to drop
your silent snowflakes to a frozen ground
like white marble stretching in the sunshine
clinging for dear life with all the rest of them,
grains of sand without space in their together
or as solid rock beneath the river’s water,
as days, streaming by one after another
wearing bones too thin like a dead end job
all of these things she sings are the same
you: a stream of images, tempting thoughts
they’ll never match the beauty she is seeing,
your shadows dancing, bowing to their light,
you moving inside her body through her soul
every bite of hurt, every kiss of joy, every fear
she draws you in forms, in colors, in her breath
she paints each, the seasons of her eternal love
to see the unseen, to touch what is not yet.

Copyright © 2018 Stacey Harris

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