88

On Encountering Her Again

You mean too much to us: the road not taken

through the midnight forest of howling wolves,

panicked like Dante the instant we awaken

to the peril of living our deeper selves.

We are still too new from primeval night,

still savages cowering around a fire

and inventing words to deride the fright

along our backbone. Why should we tremble there?

Though you hunt with leopards, they are not wild

toward you, who dare lie down with beasts,

as in that dream about the holy child.

Your servants, they are too your trusted guests.

And I must say the beauty of your silver

eyes, your silver hair, those fearless footprints bright

on the dark mountain. Lady, I could live for

less than to hunt with you there by moonlight.