The beauty beyond
Diamonds don’t cry,
not even when they are cut, shaved smooth
to suit our facets.
The dream came from the east.
I know, because it had pink sunlight
draped over its shoulders.
She left music in her footprints and spring flowers,
made cooking pots and medicines,
so they erased her.
Sun, egg-yellow blob in the sky,
skin-tingling, and the earth rustles with gratitude.
I wait for the first roses.
There will be blue again,
lake water reflecting nothing more sinister
than spring clouds, scudding.