Thursday, April 27, 2006

Zephira

She pervades the place,
becomes the most important
thing, like the sound of water
in the desert, and even
stubborn animals would
easily take to their knees
before her.

She is a pleasure,
one that must not be kept
secret, but told in a furtive
voice to the next person,
spreading like rumors
in the market district,
spreading like sand
that comes in under the
space beneath the door
when the simmoom
rages and the camels
make their lament
by the side of the caravansary.

She is a dream, like the
smell of the ocean far
inland, or the sight of
a sea bird perched atop
the palm tree on the most
distant of all oases, like
the dimmer stars behind
the bright and obvious
points of light, only seen
when all the world is still
and quiet, and there is no
candle to light another's
face.

She pervades this place,
or perhaps, she only pervades
me, and this dream, this fever
of her is only bright and sparking
within the walls of this
one mind, only the diamonds
which glisten within this
clenched fist, held skyward
at the verge of the waters
where the violence of the
desert is thwarted.

10 comments:

drthunder said...

Beautiful imagery, but I feel a little ignorant. I don't understand the title. I looked "Zephira" up in the dictionary and in the encyclopedia, but found now satisfactory reference for it. Because so many of the things that you refer to in your writing seems to be symbolistic, I feel that I'm missing something here.

Firehawk said...

Doc,

It's just her name. Outsmarted yourself there, kid.

Mushster said...

Just beautiful.

MB said...

Is it just me? These last couple have a different feel, I think. I like them a lot.

Is it Spring?? Or just the random shifts of Firehawks mind?? :-)

Firehawk said...

Mush,

Thanks. Glad to see you around here.

MB,

Well, I think you're right about them having a different tone. It may well be spring. I suppose I bounce between various modes, and the fact that I've been outside more lately might have its effect, as well.

Glad my wild mood swings last long enough to form some discernable pattern, in any case.

Soulless said...

There is indeed a dream-like feel to this piece; it makes me want to tiptoe on air as I read the lines...

She is a pleasure,
one that must not be kept
secret, but told in a furtive
voice to the next person

She pervades this place,
or perhaps, she only pervades
me


Told like the most courageous suitor would. Heehee. Fabulous, Firehawk. This beautiful one's a keeper for the woman with the right name. ^_^

MB said...

She is a dream, like the
smell of the ocean far
inland, or the sight of
a sea bird perched atop
the palm tree on the most
distant of all oases, like
the dimmer stars behind
the bright and obvious
points of light, only seen
when all the world is still
and quiet, and there is no
candle to light another's
face.


I love that run-on sentence, and the way you end it, bringing the focus back in close.

David E. Patton said...

I just love this poem.

Blue Athena said...

I so agree with Soulless! There's this ethereal, dreamy feel to this poem, as if it's wafting gently in the air. :)

Firehawk said...

Thanks, everyone, for your kind words.

Welcome, David and Blue Athena. I hope to see you here again.

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