Her eyes
made me want to be a poet again

Because in those great big,
dazzling,
honey sparkle,
gold dust,
ravenwood eyes,
I lived a lifetime

I saw her at the helm of a weathered oak galleon,
weighing anchor into a sea
as green as dew speckled moss

I saw her skip down sand
that sparkled like diamonds
in the heat of the day
and dance away evenings under starlight

In her eyes, I saw
Everything.

I saw the Aurora Borealis,
and how the first time she saw it
she wondered if maybe God
wasn't done painting the sky
because he wanted to get it
just right for her

I saw her ride off into the twilight
as if it were a liquid
you could swim through,
and she as much a part
of her horse
as it was to the ground,

an animal
born of the earth
with legs that explode
into the soil as wind whips
through it's mane
and her hair,

both, for a moment
fiercely alive,
feral,
free