The messenger

An April dawning.

Your blonde sisters, so like you,

are all at this moment

walking toward you, Love.

You wait, shaded

by myrtle and hawthorn.

The doorway opens between the branches.

The pathway is mysterious.

Slowly, in their long dresses,

one by one and hand in hand,

they cross the blurred threshold

where night becomes dawn.

The first in line

searches the shadows and, with a cry, finds you.

The flower of her eyes opens,

splendid in golden laughter.

Each one, to the last sister,

each trembles as your lips touch her

lips and the lightning of your mouth

explodes to their heart.