in her darkened beauty,
hooked like
the jewelled moon to the sky-fabric,
rose an exquisiteness
that rivalled the idyllic
serenity of the buddha.
light prostrated at her feet
begging to be extinguished;
statues melted within their
desire to return to clay.
wolves chorused in dark tongues,
howls dismantled the stars and
inverted the moralistic bowl.
swathed in service,
shackled in steel,
body coffined in ownership,
rarity in motion.
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
21jun09
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