ANASTASIA

She stood with wolves
swirling about her like mist,
gray wisps of clouds dancing
across the full luminous moon.
Clutching a jeweled wooden staff
as old as she, as time's dawn,
yet she as young and fresh
as the newborn rose blossom,
a goddess of beauty,
pale as ivory or snow,
sensual innocence, feral purity,
exotic and erotic,
white witch runs wild and free
through dew sprinkled clover fields
in bright, warm mornings,
in twilight breezes of evenings
she passes silently
through primal forest,
shady,cool, dark, and deep.
Nude, nubile nymph,
radiating such quiet power,
an exhilarant fire that threatens
to burn, to incinerate
in pure white blinding light
the mere mortals that
she loves and protects,
mortals who adore her
in temples of love and life,
in pagan altars of consciousness.

February 5, 1993