Like Lavender
like damp locks in tepid bathwater;
strands of angel hair drying over northern mountains -
the bare branches of coast bound trees
comb through the feathered clouds,
raking the cold into the city -
and I am stuck here
between a book and a park bench;
flitting through pages as
words lose tense
lose meaning
allowing this cult of word
like a black velvet robe
To be discarded at my ankles,
naked -
without pretense
the human body is incandescent
like the delicate translucence
of a honeybee wing in spring
and its poetry is a silent notion
estranged from speech -
like lavender,
you have to bruise the bud
to release the scent
like lavender,
roll the the petals between your thumb and index
to massage the oils
like lavender,
the soul a joyous bushel
to bury flushed faces in
like lavender,
the soul, as it dreams of other souls
is easily laid to sleep,
naked -
on a city park bench
blue mountains still snowless
prop themselves up on the November sky
like old lithograph prints ready to be hung,
standing up to leave
cold skin glowing in the sharp breeze
another came into the park
and I was inclined to confess
all of me
Zameena Zen