A pair of swans swirling on a blue pond,
An angel’s wings spread across the sun,
The innocence of paper boats on a brook,
The lightness of the first winter snow:
Your feet are all those things and more.
They rise like a phoenix from the ashes of pain
That smudged the darkened past of heartache
And march along the stony roads
To the yellow dawn of wildflowers.
The delicate white marble toes
Spread roots deep into the hearth of Earth-core
To bloom the svelte body of a Greek goddess.
And there is nothing more I want
Than to kiss those florid feet
And worship their ornate purity
In all their glory of gold and flesh.
Deep inside, secretly,
I hope against hope,
That someday —
Those feet will bring you
To the doors of my heart.