After all those ablutions
in the burning oil of penance,
with the silvery halo
of camphor and incense,
you walked down from the woods -
from the mountain of the gods.
As mute as a nymph
and as divine as a virgin,
with a hundred arms,
you lead me to the river -
the river of my unhealed wounds
where flows my uncried woes.
You nodded at the river
and like white ice
it stood still -
as still as your silence.
You asked them to sing
and the fish sang.
They sang old legends
of warrior men and tender women.
You told them to dance
and the streams arose to dance.
They danced me all the courage
of mountain lions and feeding mothers.
And then did the galleon emerge,
with masts of the darkest ebony
and sails of the finest cloth,
from the entrails of the river
to take you to your heavens in the sea.
As your golden hair wavered
in tune to the seaward winds,
I heard them whispering
that the goddesses from mountains
walk down no more for men who sweat.
Through the mist
I saw your blue eyes
weaving a lonely shroud
for my soul to wipe off its tears.
