Signals to Her Heart

by posted by Leon; poem from the Wingmakers site

Out where the ocean beats its calm thunder
against grainy shores of quartz and sand,
she strolls, hands pocketed in her flowing gown
of pearl-like luminance.
I can see her raven hair of sky's deepest night
it whispers to the sun's widow
to masquerade her reflective moonlight.
This is she.
The one who knows me as I am
though untouched is my skin.
The world from which she steps
pounces from mystery,
announcing her calm beauty
like a willow tree bent to still waters.
In this unhurt place she takes her body
to the shoreline listening for sounds beneath the waves
that tell her what to do.
How great is her dream?
Will it take her across the sea?
Does she hear my heart's voice
before the translation?
She scoops some sand
with her sculpted hands and
like an hourglass the particles fall
having borrowed time
for a chance to touch her beauty.
Her lips move with prayers of grace as she tells
the wind her story;
even the clouds gather overhead to listen.
Her gestures multiply me
with the sign of infinity,
disentangled from all calculations,
adorning her face with a poetry of tears.
I am summoned by her voice
so clear it startles me.
I watch her because I can.
I know her because she is me.
I desire her because she is not me.
In all my movement, in the vast search
for something that will complete me,
I have found her
on this shoreline,
her faint footprints,
signatures of perfection
that embarrass time with its fleeting nature.
I am like the cave behind her
watching from darkness,
hollowed from tortured waves
into a vault that yearns to say
what she cannot resist.
A language so pure it releases itself
from my mouth like long-held captives
finally ushered back to their homeland.
She turns her head and stares
past me like I were an unseen ghost,
yet I know she sees my deepest light.
I know the ocean is no boundary to her love.
She is waiting
for the final path to my heart to become clear.
And I am waiting
for something deep inside
to take my empty hands
and gently caress her face
for I now know that the rehearsals were all numbered,
and destiny had ordained that my lifes splinters
were all signals leading to her heart.