|She pauses in tenacious indecision,|
naked toes poised above the water,
desert pool stilling
with her apprehension,
her quiet crisis of conscience.
There are so many
pitfalls to this aquatic dance,
politics mixing with religion
pitted against love.
As we lock eyes
and she glances
quickly, timidly away,
I fear our future dying.
She withdraws her foot
to hot sandstone with a sigh,
temple law warring with passion.
"Beloved, we risk everything,"
she moans with finality.
Her eyes fill with such certainty
that I know our union
(whether in this sacred pool
or in pharoah’s city)
I rise from the waters silent stunned,
lurching spinning groping toward escape,
passed steps she wards.
Translucent cloth slides along
her flesh to pool about her feet.
Her hand upon my chest,
Her rapt gaze steadying me.
"It is but our truth, beloved,"
kisses my lips in proclamation.
"Yet I do not retreat."
Copyright 2004 F.T.S. Miles