And fire in the veins
I feel the rhythm and the pulse of her heat
I scent the rain
The cottonwood trees that rustle and weep
And toss in the wind
Give a tympanic gesture of joy to the storm
And remind me of her.
My love like a storm cloud and the indolent air
Comes forth from her home
I sense the rumble of the approaching cataract
The electrical vein.
The windchimes chatter and ring out the change
And toss on the wind
Their tintinabulant gesture of joy
Like a gamalon plays.
In every young girl lies an incense of cloud
And fire in the veins
I feel the rhythm and the heat of the sun
The wood smoke of cedar
The high ridge of Vitinia where the sun warms the grape
And tosses the white wheat
Lies like a daughter in the late evening sun
Where we drank sweet cream.
My love like an afternoon full of the sunlight
After the rains
Brushes her hand cross the nape of her neck
In the sweet spring sweat.
The windchimes chatter and ring out the time
Like a portent of change
Their cheerful ululating gestures of joy
Like long summer days.
In every young girl lies a breaking heart
And fire in the veins
I feel the rhythm as she passes into night
The pillar of wind.
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