Eyes of the Beloved shimmer like stars. Which they are.
When the Beloved laughs, it bellows like howler monkeys or cackles like geese preening down by the bay.
When the Beloved mourns, hoot owls rise from its sorrow, yellow eyes gleaming in the pitch black night.
When the Beloved sings, mourning doves coo in sunlight.
When the Beloved dresses up for New Year’s Eve, it wears fireworks and Gucci pants and bright red lipstick.
When the Beloved loses every possession, it lies in rags covered with a box in the New York subway.
When the Beloved dances, evergreens twirl fine greenery, brandishing pine cones everywhere as the song encompasses.
When the Beloved kills, it stings like a scorpion.
It creates endlessly.
Shapes coalesce and dissolve and re-appear in unknown form, unfamiliar guise, un-knowable unfolding!
When the Beloved seems to sleep, it always awakens.
Hark! The Beloved reveals you now, preparing for 2012, never absent from your seeking heart.