Home >> Volume 3, Issue 01

As the Tents of Kedar

Thomas DeFreitas

Cynthia’s voice
is a living rose
of incalculably candid petals
in an eternal garden
is sweeter still than honey from the comb

Cynthia’s eyes
beneath her raven hair
speak of mystical sunsets
in far-off lands
which no cartographer has charted yet

Cynthia’s hands
are dark mysterious parables
are equatorial doves in carefree flight
are leaves that never wither
her fingers are the strings of a golden harp

Cynthia’s breast
is the first note of birdsong
piercing the solemnity of night
and heralding the dawn
of a most ecstatic day

Cynthia’s heart
contains vast silent spaces
engenders tumultuous galaxies
it burns with the fervent fire of starlight
it is as cool as the moon

Cynthia’s feet
provoke the earth to worship
each grassblade sings a hymn of praise
to the merciful God in Heaven above
at the press of her gentlest tread
her toes are ten celestial bumblebees