The Waking

She holds the sea within her being
its embrace still a trace in her nights of solitude
The sea goat king, that returned
just as every man called by the ocean


She fought her fire
and mastered the cruel skill of waiting
so that her wine became the taste of her own kiss
salted with tears
fruited with desire
true only in its giving


They were lovers once, her and this water
and they struck a fevered voyage, wind blown sails
that pushed them apart
as the moon returned to its cold reflection
and they lost the stars that guided them


She dreams the songs of desert and sky
and wakes to talismans that tantalise
just for one moment of transition


The birds come
enchanted as they are
by the memories before the dark moon
of the garden and its poets
of the orchard wine
and still the beating of her loving heart