where your skin shows through
startling in its hue.
The moon has crept beneath your eyes
all pearl and silence across your cheeks.
The heather swells delicate in your veins
as they run purple across your wrist.
The willow has woven itself
into your hair that weeps past your waist.
All nature has bent itself to your making
All earth lies sleeping
waiting for your waking.
Yet when you walk, all they wonder
is if you know about the tears in your stockings.
How foolish to judge a nymph by her nylons
like the wind by its weight
or the world by its waiting
or the heart by its loving.
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