mud lotus

I sometimes wear the psychic's eye and trace
your childhood steps. There I see a narrow cave,
a crippled satyr clothed in filth: he who gave
you life and love now odious and base.

In these dark worlds you learned to hold your breath;
The disillusioned saint who gave you birth
and traded pain for infant joy -- the earth
refuses this. Nature, for this, created death.

I love the hardy flower that survives
and closes at my callous glance. This bloom
is the second blush of youth, born of grace
and chaos. I touch the wonder in your face.
I save the smile that innervates this room.
I share the radiance that blessed our lives.

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