rare & precious
Beauty is a rare and precious thing.
I Knew her not.
Of all my experience, as a jewel, a special gift, a priceless measure, I remember her most, in sleep, in wake, in mountains, in streams in desert's bloom. In a petals tender form, In woman's irresistible dress. Times, times between, times unknown, the revelation came forth, her presence as a fragrance, all bounds broken, time himself stood still.
I in awe.
She came at night, visions, dreams, imaginations, creative stirrings. Colors splashing day. Moments calling reference. Ecstasy's mean. Life impregnated with idea. What is, what isn't. She came incessant, weighed, measured, tried. I found her not, but glimmers. She a mediator of realms, neither, one enlightening both. A desire insatiable.
Like a petaled rose, gentle, tender, smoothness shining lights luster. Precious, like a song, melodious. More so. Echo and note, pitch with reference. Some other. Somehow this. I knew her not. A line a song in melody, the cosmos dance on a firefly's wing. An echo. Everywhere.
Polyclitus alive. A classic myth. Impossible lie. Her body as a crescendo of this flow. I saw her daughter. We danced. Everything ascending. Flow to flow, light to light. Body form. Flow. Mineral to vegetable. Society to culture. Mind to thought. Her flesh mediated to absolute spirit, she vanished.
An embodiment within and without. Mastery of means, and impregnation of flesh. Like fashions ecstasy, but entranced of spirit. Echo. Melody. Flow. Form. She sorely tried my senses. Consumed my pleasure, my end, my bearing, my art. I sought her everywhere.
Elusive thought.
She came to me at night. Unsought, unmediated, too often unbeknownst. Alight mine way, where I sought her not. A fire consuming. In everything from dreams at night. In that delight of calm, I knew her, where she was not, and yet is.
She was there.
I saw her.
The rediscovery-of-the magic of
the world under the debris of modem ideas. -saul
bellow