The Heart and the Headwaters

They sat in the early morning light drinking black coffee

As the winter, pale sun rose slowly up and over the dark trees

And he watched her, still as a lake, as smooth and cool as glass,

But such oceans of current running just beneath.

He smiled at this fierce and tender woman that he loved,

All bathed in morning light and wrapped up in silence.

He smiled at the fire and mischief those blue eyes could conceal.

And she had thought that she had no poetry in her heart!

She did not see the lines written in the poem of all her body

Or hear the music that she made in every chamber of his life.

She was stunning and kind, sensual and loving

And the sound of her in his heart was a symphony.

As he watched her he saw the sheer and utter beauty

Of ten thousand years of sunsets in molten, rose-hued gold

And mountains peaked in ice and smoke and fire,

The tall and stately trees with their roots in the earth

And their crowns brushing against the scarlet sky.

Her skin had the silken feel of light and gentle rain,

The touch of smooth and glassy stars and the heat of coals.

She tasted of sweet-salted cream with honey and lavender and lilac.

She smelled of the wild earth and the winds of spring on the verge of summer.

She was soft light and fire wrapped in darkness and passions

And she was his and he was hers, a feast to all his senses.

He smiled and sipped his coffee; he would need his energy as well as

His wits, for she was wild and woman and sassy and strong.

She embodied all things perfectly, everything he loved and craved

Summed up in one passionate and powerful woman.

She was the brightest and loveliest storm he had ever ridden,

The heart and the headwaters of all his poetry; he smiled.

Eric M. Petit