You were the girl

who had come from so far,

with infinite messages,

infinite letters to unfold,

to commit to heart.

Over unharnessed peninsulas,

bearing scents, spices,

markets, sails

up to the dock of my soul,

you brought such things

to open me.

You were a wind,

overwhelming, full of sea,

against which I closed my

assaulted eyes.

Yet the onrush crashed

through the unaccustomed streets,

flinging open windows,

pantries, mailboxes,

and the wounded bark

of the still young trees.

Ageless wind, ageless storm

had entered you,

and you were majestic beyond your years,

and you had come,

yes I know it now,

to crack open the

shell of the boy,

to be the violent

sun he could not withstand.

You approached,

beautiful, naked,

breasts of dark heat,

and he howled anyway,

raged against the

loss of the child,

the safety of childhood

now caught in your

annihilating eyes.

But even in this raging

new shoots burst forth,

painful as birth is always,

the seeds of a

verdant undergrowth,

of infinite thrusting vines.

Under your abiding palm,

which grew gentler, rounder,

a forest sprung from the boy;

vigorous animals prowled there,

dark birds dared to probe

the peaks of night.

And at last you had,

as one who reaps like the wind,

a man to lie beside.


Copyright Ricky Barrow 2014

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