for Camille Claudel (1864-1943)

You shape yourself falling softly,
a ripened fruit from the tree.
Love makes your limbs quiver
sapping all your strength.

Your left arm hangs limply,
an overladen branch.
Your right hand hides
deep bosom's sorrow.

Your head bent forward
yielding to his kiss,
night blossom drinking
fire of morning star.

Soaked by the flame
of his wild passion,
he embraces you,
kneeling in worship.

Your eyes in a swoon
ecstatic longing
dreams of castles
lotus wet with dew.

You are his moon,
his mango flower,
gold fragrant nectar
alchemized into stone.

Your marble pulsates
falling and rising waves
that meet, merge, and quench
oceans of fire, frost, and foam.