Hello again, sweet love of mine,
I know you think highly of me, as the sky.
The west wind, blessed Zephyr, obeyed your call
and blew me across the wispy firmament
back into the firm embrace of your sleek arms.
In your tears I see that you missed me
and within I see that which I missed most:
the twinkling of beloved stars on a glassy sea
as my lips linger along a familiar coast.

Clouds of doubt had swirled about my thoughts of you,
yet now your southern valley is a summer stream,
dry, virgin to all but the love of me.
My passion would pour down, my dear,
but you have cut your hair, that tropical canopy,
hewn down that lovely land of life and steam.
I have long wished to bathe in those vapors
and roam where our past stood like Mayan monuments.
How I thirst for the lost trickles of those moments!

Forgive me, I have been foolish, with eyes overcast.
I now see that your soul followed me east;
the same sun that drank your sultry desire
licked your locks to a golden savannah.
My mane will be that of a veldt lion
who hunts dreams as fleeting and frail as gazelles.
This lion shall serve that which matters most;
the whims of his pride.

Lover, teacher, you have put me through a test.
The answer is, “true love is that which never left.”

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