Three Words for a Muse

You come for conversation, sit
    At the root of my tongue. 

    I meet your eyes, those startling
Birds. Your face is open, 
    Unfathomable, a word
Stretched sideways, it defies
        Meaning and then relents.

You tolerate me, appreciate
    Because I flatter you.
I am not yet finished. 

    I stand, offer you
    My cheek. You reach out for
        My hand in some other era.

Your language tastes
    Like cinnamon and damp earth. 
        If I could speak truly of you, 
    You would, I feel certain, become
        Unveiled, a terror. 

Your eyes juxtaposing,
    The violent threshing
Of your mouth – a womb,
    Its vessels made of clay.
        Its winnowing unnerves me.

Our God has scattered within you
    A seed of power that
I recognize. I sing of you and
    You are coy, respectful.

After some brief words, you
    Will dart away unscathed.
But tonight, I will weep
    While that sweet Spirit bears
        You, sleeping, away.

I pour a word from my cup
    With both hands. You notice,
        Look downward, blushing. Just
Beneath the surface of you, 
    An errant thing unspoken
        Glides along the ridge. 

Your honeyed tongue is a veil
    Of pearls. The sky is wandering
Closed, while the grass
    Knits her fingers across my mouth. 

Perhaps you will
    Stay a bit longer, urge
Me on, or maybe
I will die here, having already
    Said too much.

© 2005 Karekin M Yarian