Sunday, March 6, 2011


I'm looking at your face right now,
beautiful beyond human language.

In almost all cases of contours --
of eyes, nose, cheek, and chin,
of lips and flourishing fall of hair --
nature dons a wanton mask.

But your heart, mind, and soul conform
to the architecture of your subtle face.

It's not possible to remain an unbeliever
in wonders and in numinous mysteries
while gazing on your beautiful presence,
beautiful beyond all human languages.

But I can't stop the babel of my tongue:

Eyes -- a hidden glory receives dark color.
Nose -- shapes of compassion kneel there.
Cheek -- wry humor giggles intelligently.
Chin -- strength is echoed in structure.
Lips -- an ancient ethic finds an analog.
Hair -- sea-blown music waves through it.

Nothing extra is implied here, of course.
Perish the thought! Perish the thought!
This is merely a passing observation.
You see, I am a connoisseur of beauty,
seeking succor through all its forms.

Copyright 2011 -- Tim Buck

No comments:

Post a Comment