She

She, being not yet us but now, not quite just herself

becoming as she may be in her maybe
In the darkness, and in the passion, and in the pain
It is the light that compels me, the brightness in a glance, the slight turn of her lip into a smile
These are the things which beg and bind me

revealing as she is in the sommers nacht
in the glimmer and the golden glow and the jasmined breeze
it is the moments that pass, and the words that mark them, It is the question we cannot ask or answer yet will not ignore
That is the real chain on which we swing

mystified as I may be and twice bitten
by the splendor of the girl, and the strength of the woman
it is the potential for passion, the potency of all that could be, for all whom could love
that is the idea(l) which makes me ask

is love now three times a fool
when alteration it does not find
and need not make
but still
from this fascination cannot break?