Adam

The fact remains. Your tears won’t sway her grief,

Nor soothe with gentle waters that surprise

Which wrongs her face, as tears do children’s eyes

When warning’s lost to play, and old beliefs

Not yet renewed from pain. Your love’s the thief

Of perfect strangeness, of the space that buys 

The time to wrap her like the utter prize

She is, or was, before this binding grief.

Perhaps the sunshine rained too long upon

Those naked shoulders sent to fire the world,

Or gazing on her liquid body—brought 

Before your moonstruck face—you felt outdrawn

On some new tide, and simply rode what pearled

Beneath those rising waves beyond all thought.

© Jay Warren Clark