only the flesh can satisfy

those universal truths

that break on through entanglements

as they are written.

for unraveling life's complexities,

the coming together of dualities

merges into

the simplicity of one.

such a timeless instant,

this survival beneath the waves,

riding amid the sparks.

hair wet from resolute sharings,

pillows, sheets unmade from fated pairings,

opposing strengths

astonishingly fulfilled,

water to earth, air to fire

vibrantly deep inside

these intimate visionary colors.

then what more can words pronounce?

visions are saviors to the tongue

ever since dawns became dusks,

and the Poet is only aware of the moment,

if alive,

all else intellectual gaseous dada.

for only then a Poet’s promise becomes passion’s tool,

emanating splendor.

so here now, as particulars reflect shadows,

Platonic Dreams,

this presence hovers, this otherworld,

where we now reside:

kayak drifting down a late-summer stream.

white Moon newborn, aware.

a tender Light imagined from some campfire many forests away.

girl undresses her boy.

girl is unafraid

smiling from her soul to the lapping waters beneath them.

boy waits silently, entranced, submitting in perfect surrender.

all movements eternal, reawakened for the first time.

as breasts exchanged for imagination (nothing can be forsaken),

vagina grows to where he lies.

penis evaporates.

a deep green light encircles, pulsates, and melts away.

barefoot boy swells, nearly unconscious now,

menstruating.

humming her new voice

as the Poet Spirit blesses him.

and sweetly inside boy,

girl hums from her Soul.

she too is illuminated by the same light.

she dreams of Aphrodite's swan nested in a cave,

her two wings beating a goatskin drum,

then swooping and diving inside her lover’s rhythms.

perhaps eternities pass.

and only then is she satisfied with his new voice.

so consider this Poet Spirit’s Song:

The girl was not a vision. The girl will not become a woman.

The boy will not become a man. The boy was not a vision.

Bisbee, 1979