“O spring like crystal!/ If only, on your silvered-over faces,/ you would
suddenly form/ the eyes I have desired,/ which I bear sketched deep within
my heart.” John of the Cross, “The Spiritual Canticle”

Like a bride I walk upon petals,
cobalt florets kiss my arms as they

tumble, soft stars beneath my feet.
Panicles of lavender dot perfect above

in jacaranda and sky, Ezekiel’s
sapphire throne of God glints,

cirrus angels touch leaden angles of
horizon. Scrub jays call, arrow azure.

All this falling down from heaven, so
fleeting, yet my momentary eyes

meet firmament, the unmoved
moving intensity of blue gaze.

For one long caught breath, even the hawks
swing down for me.