She Walks In Dreams

Indeed as beautiful as night, her images are indistinct, a blazing sun beyond my sight, an orchid that is now extinct. I cannot paint for you her walk, or delve the mystery of her eyes. By day the wildcats never stalk, but always under starlit skies. A sighted man may well go blind, and yet the blind might clearly see, for all of darkness is inclined to set her mystic vision free. The stars are eloquent they say, yet do not speak a single word. The moon is mute by light of day, its furtive song cannot be heard. Indeed as beautiful as night, she wanders in a dream sublime, but dreams dissolve in morning light, eluding metaphor and rhyme.