Her picturesque laughter, resplendent with roses, and doves,
and gleaming sparks of stars flitting about, up high above,
resembling shoals of silvery fish darting, splashing around,
amidst thin branches of cedars spread out like sidewalks of Rome,
criss-crossing the skies, as tufts of wind startle them, and the leaves,
that nod in exultation, brushing her face – this vague silhouette
of a woman – a stranded poreclain vase – left in the woods, soaking
the obscene, saccharine richness of the dank Prussian blue, but
with a blushing, feminine softness brought to the blend.
Esther stands alone, mothered by the seas, bathed in some antique,
pearly luminescence, that extends back to the stars. She erases herself
in the deep trees, as the wind drops, and the music empties the air.
#For my new friend, Esther.