Bronze skinned angel
Voice like delicate sea shell shaped bells of iridescent pink and pearl
She comes up through the tall grass all hair and arms swinging
Smiling as she comes over and down the ridge
Into my arms
And hold her as I hold her in the night
To feel her warmth for myself, and the way we fit together
To float away the time as if we were small cherubs in the clouds
with nothing more than to rest our chins in chubby palms and watch the world go by lazily
But also to protect her, to clutch her not with jealousy, though perhaps a little,
more so to safeguard her from the cruelness of the world and of widespread realities
that swirl in the shadows and call out menacing names
She's pure, she speaks no art
Yet her mind and manner, her thought and lack of tactic,
that down to earth pureness
are Art in of itself.
Her life is art, and I feel but as a watcher not worthy even when she moves me to tears
She's held me, too
During black moods of selfish sympathy
Ghosts of the past, phantoms of doubt and hypocrisy and sin and suffering
Weaved together if only for a lack of light
She does her best to dust them away with sun
While taking no credit for her hard work, her eyes not searching for gratitude
She not offering lip service, instead throwing open curtains
And letting me bask in simple warmth
Like a child she runs and plays, her smile too large for vanity
Eyes like small onyx stones dance with delight
She's angry now, I've called her a kid
She sulks like one, too, and then we share a laugh
The best girl I ever knew
Kinny
