In all of the universe,
Behold Rebecca.
Rebecca is blonde energy with blue eyes––
a nymph of the air
with skyward thoughts
and upwardly rising laughter.
Rebecca is a summer cloud.
She likes the outward trail
along the creek through the forest
in the morning air,
or the jog around the park in twilight,
but most of all, she loves
her up-and-down aerobics on
the columns of the Sunday Times
wearing only her bathrobe under her blanket
with a room-full of delicious hours.
Rebecca is a purring cat.
Her image is the crystal dancer,
the mother nurturing the child,
the silent deer, the silver necklace,
the high heel shoe, the moon.
And Rebecca's touch is sunlight.
She is a young nova
in a declining galaxy––
a first-time Athena
with a gossamer shield
and hope for a sword––
She is love's wounded warrior
jousting alone
against muttering odds.
Rebecca is at times, a mourning star.
But when you see her,
in her is-ness––
barefoot in blue jeans and sweatshirt,
in a bath towel walking down the hallway, or
in her dandelion nakedness––
She is simply Becky - the unmistakable flower
and her heart is the whiteness
of the whitest rose.
i thou her.