I succumb to her as a goddess, because we’ve never met.
(it’s safe, you see, her radiance reaches
across space-time-mind
softly luminescing, never scorching.)
She is a lover: alone, distant, mysterious—such with her suchness.

ea est et barbara, et mihi cara,
splendidus igneus, sol muliebris-
movens me atque, procul penitus

Last night I listened to the radio Geminids streaming in,
impinging on the frequencies of nothingness
with soft twangs suggestive of guitar in requiem.
From yonder, did I imagine, they were arriving-
pitters of worldly unworldliness,
the dust of a solemn lust, goddess-cast.

* the sound of a geminid echo