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Poem

In the misty calm after the storm,
inside the perfect raindrop dripping
from the index finger of a lofty blue babe,
one of Shakespeare's young and rose-lipp'd cherubim
doing a balancing act on the temple facade,

there stands Marie, lady of exquisite beauty,
her face framed in fiery auburn hair,
her emerald eyes as brilliant as the nearest star,
her full lips a seductive invitation
to the tall knight dismounting his silver steed.

Sir Will plucks a golden snapdragon from her hair,
takes her in his arms and places her on a bed
of shamrocks.  They tremble as their lips meet
under the watchful cherub hovering above.

Their liquid world, except in moments
of gentle updraft, is, like the moon, a captive
of the earth's pull. Marie and her gallant Will cling
to each other in a lifelong embrace, each
aware only of the other's warmth...

until the droplet touches earth and evaporates
in a pool of blinding light.

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