Mayfield

Watching your body folded into sleep,

getting higher from your respirations

and then plummeting,

like evening doves diving,

from rafters of the old Mayfield.

Your phoenix lies still tonight.

In vigil and awe I swoon over

the tattooed Venus on the rise,

with a sway that could cut glass,

shake the Heavens,

and raise up fire and brimstone.

In all her luster

She willing chooses generosity

when it’s natural to take.

I find myself entangled and undone

in serenity of what she creates.

I’m undeserving but forever grateful; 

for the touch which her spirit changed me,

my archaic map is meaningless,

her aura’s the deepest of my framing.