Aphrodite Morphē

 

She belongs to a form—
and what that form is
barely understood—

only a sculptor-genius
of Egypt, India, or Greece,
might place a finger on it—

or one with the ear
of Mozart or Bach
hear the form divine

as it breathes and moves—
wave and whisper
folded into awe.

Morphē—structured form,
inscribed etiquette
of how to cut a living line—

that, from serene
and sincere between,
steps forth

and brings to presence
what alone endures
through each stunning now.