Some Crushed Goddess

In the why of a soundless tingling ocean night we sanded bodies smooth that lay bare to the dark- and a light rain fell.

I spelled your name in stars as they spilled to one corner of the sky some crushed goddess trembling beneath your weight.

I would, as full you slept besides, steal images from your blank dreams and colour them night-blooming jasmine the tint of old lovers on a silent picture reel. Ever your midnight muse, I would say

and laugh; (but you did not hear the woman whose voice was lost to the grabbing toss of waves) and too, a connoisseur of lost moments saved on old scraps of soul-

for instance, when your face was pressed against my arm in your rest beading on my skin like water on glass;

and I wonder sometimes still if the almost-kiss of your lashes, the whispered touch of your hair as you slept could prove love:

(having never told you, that for me you filled the empty spaces in the universe where the gods breathed in)
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