of petals and the moon...

She was a rare and beautiful flower
translating powers of sun and change
into folds of delicate lines and spaces
as nature teaches itself a perfection of form.
Air transports sultry evidence
to those who taste upon wandering winds
and are drawn like the irresistible tug
to eye, and the senses of wanting.

Rare in the plenty of limitless things
beauty in a world defined by night stars
and day dreams, such are the ways
that the unthinkable occurs, and in its shadow
there is a more remarkable light.

If the ever-changing  constancy of the Moon
were all of the things I have given her to be,
then it would measure the small reach of mortal man
to find favored among precious things given,
but for the vast ignorance of a simple man-
as rich in imaginings as he is poor in time- she
would be a flower in  the near reach to heavens;
a rare and beautiful  creature of confluences,
a collage of untied moments.

So am I part of a story not of my invention,
but an intention of far greater things.
Merely, a blurred page in a history that fades
before it can be written, a passing episode;
holder of the brief candle
that somehow flames into a fullness of life.