YELLOW
That late spring in rural Virginia,
yellow broke the ice between us -
not pale pollen yellow, Amarillo -
bold as coltsfoot, mustard flowers,
dandelion, or tulips by Calvin's trailer.
Your new book cover, my business card -- matched yellows.
In earlier encounters, you serenaded my blue dress
while I wrote poems about dakini's seductive dance.
After your visit, I wanted to wear yellow only -
shirt, socks, earrings yellow as bananas.
I ate yellow apples and swallowed yellow juice,
pressed yellow to my eyes and mouth,
on a quest for the golden color of Earth,
symptom, said my acupuncturist, of a need for grounding.
I rubbed against your aura's radiating gold
as my Dakini's heat, her red hair and arrows,
saturated your biofield with Amarillo,
tryst-maker, nourisher of lovers.
Decades after, early autumn in Oregon,
memory, yellow glow of fireflies in grass --
heats my heart, fires my fantasies.
(from The Fires From Her Window, Six Chairs Press, 2008)
That late spring in rural Virginia,
yellow broke the ice between us -
not pale pollen yellow, Amarillo -
bold as coltsfoot, mustard flowers,
dandelion, or tulips by Calvin's trailer.
Your new book cover, my business card -- matched yellows.
In earlier encounters, you serenaded my blue dress
while I wrote poems about dakini's seductive dance.
After your visit, I wanted to wear yellow only -
shirt, socks, earrings yellow as bananas.
I ate yellow apples and swallowed yellow juice,
pressed yellow to my eyes and mouth,
on a quest for the golden color of Earth,
symptom, said my acupuncturist, of a need for grounding.
I rubbed against your aura's radiating gold
as my Dakini's heat, her red hair and arrows,
saturated your biofield with Amarillo,
tryst-maker, nourisher of lovers.
Decades after, early autumn in Oregon,
memory, yellow glow of fireflies in grass --
heats my heart, fires my fantasies.
(from The Fires From Her Window, Six Chairs Press, 2008)