Another One for Sylvia

The druids are still skin-walking,
       birds still aligned in flight,

She was as they are except

       we weren't her,

Could never understand

       the basics of her plight,

Still it went

                    heralded

       just like she wanted,

                          with all her

Careful what you wish for

                    heart.

She went famous in excess

      of all that we keep bottled 

                    up

Like a humming refrigerator 

      in our morning prayers

               of domestic bliss,

Everything clean, everything loved

               and pulled into perfect

                            volupté         

      as if

               that's the way it always

                        should be

In the dusty fields of harmony light

      where our being resides.

Any move below

                             a choice of

Unfathomable love.