Who is she, this
colourful character of a thousand hues?
Garbed in fuchsia
mantle, with pretty skirts of cyan blues,
Her eyes daubed in
lilac shadow & kohl from lands in sun,
And her generous lips,
painted in orange of persimmon.
Who is this woman,
in the mirror now cracked with mold?
With her hair of
ravened wing & her cheek of dusted gold,
She who dances
naked, beneath raindrops of jeweled gems,
Moving beneath her
stamping feet, the dust of eon’s hems.
Who is this lady,
who dines on quince from runcible spoons?
She who bows low,
in reverence to old & milky solstice moons,
With her talons
painted scarlet red, in deep & bloodied juice,
She moving
stealthily through night, not needing any excuse.
Who is this feral
creature, she whom in her loins stirs fire?
Who dreams at
night of making love, to wild forest´s Satyrs,
She who imbibes
new dewdrops, from the petals gentle furl,
She, quaffing from
shelled home, of the long vacated pearl.
Who is this
strange person, who sings at dusk with birds?
She who listens to
butterflies & understands their words,
And at full moon
she howls, with the sad & lonely wolves,
Escaping over
mountains, with the running Spanish bulls.
Who is this wild one,
who at its zenith, whispers to the sun?
Relating to its warmth,
all her deepest secrets & her fun,
Who traced the passing
of stars, on skies, far, dark & wide,
It´s she who loves
the planets & knows to read sea´s tides.
Who is this delicious
being, whom I spy in shadowed glass?
Passing in the morphing
hues, her life once lived, now past,
Kicking weary autumn
leaves, into new snow on her way,
Peering in the mirror,
I ask, “Are you me in there, ole`, ole`?
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