The sun, the moon, a galaxy of stars,
A bashful boy, a wizardry of fun,
The ultimate Prince Charming with no mars,
And Father Christmas rolled up into one.
You were an Indian Sultan in a dream,
The god of poetry who gave me flowers,
The earth's wild purity, a laughing stream
Who leaps from darkness into golden hours.
Ballet was sacrament: holy, bright, pure:
Filled with grand passion and elfin allure!
Before you one long midnight of the soul
Consumed me: nothing served to make me whole:
Then you alighted, like a laughing star,
A lionhearted flame: just who you are!
Copyright 1995 Anissa Nedzel Gage
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