The Green Hills

do not tell me

that your lips

are not the gates

of heaven

and your voice

the calling of horns

and the ringing of bells

I would lie down

on the side

of the green hills

for just a whisper

for the faint ghost of a sigh

on the mirrored glass

I would let down my hair

take out the pins

and unwind the braids

for one flash of your eyes

for one ember of the fire

you have kindled

when you turn from me

the cloak of mysteries

folds between us

and the light sinks

beneath the horizon

and is gone

except in the heart of me

where I feed fragments

of memory to the spark

to keep the light burning