The Greek, black of hair,
smooth and clean
of olive colored skin
stands erect and strong
on slabs of rock quite thick,
flat sea cover over the azure Aegean’s
open arms.
On occasion, liquid foam
spurts fast and high,
breaks through a crack
a crooked seam in the grey granite
towards infinity’s sigh.
Our youth is essence of solitude,
single under the blazing blood truth
of orange Mediterranean sun.
He climbs high into cerulean sky
like Icarus or a dark masculine
hawk preparing to die to self’s
confining small story.
In synchrony complete,
across far continents,
Georgia O’Keefe creates
herself as sunflash
and moonflow alone
and whole.
She climbs, cradled in courage,
through striations of colored cliff
stained with women’s story,
sex of slender stamen
penetrating secrets of light and shade
and the music of poetry
in the vast New Mexico landscape.
Female and male dance on earth’s skin
and wrestle as worthy foes,
hearty co-creators
absorbing life’s woes,
opening and closing, making
their days, each eve treasured
seeped seen anew
in love’s all compelling
salted great oceans
and dried painted deserts
of deep human wonder.
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