In a Thin Shirt of Feeling

In a thin shirt of feeling,
a young girl
washed her face in light.

The pulse of water,
in the sun,
filled the shadows,
waving, shimmering,
from the depths of crystal.

There was no rain,
but being itself:

the throbbing reflection of existence,
the shining of being,
the echo of feeling’s music,
flowing to the farthest edge
of water’s tender hum,

to the curve of the sun,
in a thin shirt of feeling,

warm and dry
among the coiling shadows,

as the torn, trembling lips of the image
in the ripened mirror of drops,
in the drops of the ripened mirror,

were nourished
by light.