For the girl with eyes
of a color still unknown.
—
A soft, rose-gold light,
on your face kindly spun,
symbol of day's death,
Cast by a westering Sun.
Under its spell, you glow:
your skin, soft, shimmers;
your golden tresses shine,
every shade a new kind.
Each detail alive turns:
thrown in thoughtful stipple,
from freckles to moles,
unto your skin burned.
I gaze above your nose,
to find two bright moons.
Not grey, not blue. Both.
Quiet, fierce, and keen.
What once where lines,
mind’s naivë sketches,
is in you defined.
Into flesh burned.
Dappled girl,
Light refracted:
may I learn to see,
in those, your eyes,
(like in Beatrix's Dante did)
the Ever-Lasting Love,
the Ever-Lasting Life.