please don't love me for
my metaphors
only take away my images
and love the naked splendor
of my skin.
my pretty verses are only
drops of spray on a sea
of words, but please remember
they were once stars inlaid
on the skies of my heart.

my heart is an orphan boat
crossing a steady image of an ocean
where countless mountains
have sunk into the sea.
the Word of Heaven
is neither written nor read,
and the self-sufficient
universe only lives between the lines,
a naked rose of light, unadorned

it is the love
within the words that lives on--
tear stained sleeves
and hearts full of longing
perfume of flowers
or a harp melody
holding back the billowing flood
of the world... poems
are only signposts for the heart
on the bridge of time,
where the river and evening clouds
stretch away for a thousand miles