She Looks Lovely Covered in Earth
Does she think of me, O' Swan?
The she who wears a myriad of faces.
O' Swan, she floats when she walks.
Does she get lost in that oblivion of innocence and youthful learnings?
Does she suspect that I have feelings for her?
Swan, she enters my dreams and flutters around like a humming bird.
She wears many masks in between her thoughts
Her song bird voice ping-pongs through the space between my ears.
I wish, O' Swan, that you could turn my body's clock back one decade
But if you did, would I still love her?
---William James, January 18, 2003
If you haven't already, check out Penhead Press's first publication: Randomly Accessed Poetics, Issue 1: The Texture of Words.