Silk Worms Weave
for D.A.

claw at thin air, there has to be a poem, lingering,
hovering, just outside the doors of my senses

I must open them all, I must draw her in
out of her clothes if I have to, by her hair if I have to

if she must come kicking and screaming
into my poem, wild and wacky someone, into a cell

she is not such a one, she dresses up,
she fixes her hair

all elegant and lovely she appears
even if a little late for the show
another show starts when she shows up
my heart quickens, I light up

we exchange secrets
eye contact, a flash of smiles, she blushes
what is it that we've arrived at, understanding

one name like hat or an umbrella
another name like an item of underwear
embarrassed to touch it, to use it

a beetle, similarly, has these layers of wings
or a ladybug

innermost ones, hidden when they alight
saved for flight, silky, transparent

wings upon which they go between
earth and heaven

she as if arriving upon earth when I see her
where is she normally

from where and by what means does she arrive
where was she before I ever saw her

only just set eyes upon her near the end of June,
a month and ten days ago

all about in my senses ever since like perfume


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:18 a.m. 09.08.09