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Who's that girl by the ancient tree...
She's the daughter of a butcher, quiet and pouty...
She's always there, contemplating unspoken prophecy...
She scribbles poetry,
they say her Mother is a sibyl raving...
Solitude serves her like the aroma of rain on young chaos calming...
She's bad magic bro, leave it alone wisely,
she'll never put out in the indigo evening anyway, let it be...
She's cute as a question cut crossly...
Yeah, until she snaps like a cat crazed by shadows slithering...
I want to know the sfumato of her psychology...
Jesus, you're leaving for Kandahar in Autumn for your ministry study...
I have the feeling she may understand me...
I don't think you're gonna' woo her with your netherworld philosophy...

Are you the Tomb flower...
Are you the soul reaper...
No, I'm just water for you pure...
Without your cool attention will I wither...
I suspect you'll endure like a diamond demure,
I always see you here near Rachel's Tomb thinking in deep color,
my name is Jesus, I live around the corner...
I know who you are, your Father
owns the store on Jerhico and Vine Street selling furniture,
my name is Aurora, as in twilight's contour...
As in a girl gifted with poetic allure...
Oh yeah, what's the temper of my poetic flair...
A temptation of curiosity whom is wisdom's teacher...
To compare, red is the reason for the rose's rapture...
How long have you been writing poetry like a star dipped feather...
The women in my family have had the eyes of poets since love became a power,
every Holiday my parents buy me a new scroll because I'm a Receiver...
Does that mean you're a Seer...
It means I'm a Believer,
I often write my poems on clothing tatter,
the fabric holds the coal ink like light to thunder...
You look soo beautiful in blue jasper,
the trim of lavender a pretty whisper
for the flesh tones of your poetry's flicker...
So what's your story of youth rising future...
My Father wants me to be a carpenter 
eventually a business owner,
but I want to be a God scholar,
a spirit Minister, a heart helper...
You seem like a natural speaker,
I can see you being a stellar leader,
if I'm not engaged by the end of the year 
I'll become a Kabbalah Temple devotee forever...
The world isn't waiting for us to wonder 
about what work we'll procure...
Neither is it waiting for us to love and suffer...

Aurora, your touch has taught me tenderness of thought and terror of loss...
We share a love cost...
Forgive me for destiny's cold frost...
Our love will survive doubt's boast...
I'm leaving for Kandahar in morning's early gloss...
Time be not cruel if we be not a fool...
Justice is inward, not outward, if we are true then we are just...
Jesus you are my heartbeat of trust...
There's a spirit of Life Art that united us,
I have something special for you, it's a jewel...
It glows like embers of a star in a fog of winter...
It's an opal, it's from where the North speaks of night sky fire...
Take this fabric poem from my soul's purest prayer,
it shall give you breath in the baptism of pain's pool...

Ignited by the afterglow 
of love's rooting aftershocks,
I surge to stare
remorselessly at Melancholy's heart 
graying goodbye...


*Sfumato is a technique, or occurrence of allowing tones and colors
to shade gradually into one another producing softened outlines.

J.A.B.
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