Dear Helen: An Open Letter to One Blessed by the Baffling Gods

Unsought,
the would-be Princess/Queen appears,
as happens, Natural,
each several seconds/centuries/years.

She the obvious
(though unspoke/untold)
result of a Gods'-graced birth
beneath a lode of bode-well stars,
the dark-bright best of what
Woman is, has been, can be-
every subtle/supple attitude
perfect and perplexing
perfumes exudes.

Though the merest shard of light
shed luckily upon the Face of Truth
would utterly shatter/shred his poor,
over aeons, yet unlearned perception-
still, with weak words,
toward ephemeral and
partial comprehensions
does the Dreamer/Poet/Fool
lean and yearn.

With ample access
to au courant colloquialisms
and fine phraseologies
(antiquated and otherwise)
arms he him(silly)self
toward the illumination of Mysteries.

This only to, perhaps,
attain, painstakingly,
a not-quite-clear,
filtered light-
such as that which golden afternoons
through saffron skirts might blow-
a subtle scene
for eyes enough alert
to notice such small things
while trains pass, work is done
and Time's noose
tightens sickly slow.

When such a She
by Fates’ Hands placed
before such a Fool’s
thrall-marked, world-thirsty eyes
what should occur
but a moody mind-music,
all mellow cellos and violins
candle-bright and blurry
should shimmy soft
and murmur down
the far, high-deep skies
and unwrap him
from a right rapt silence.

No Princely sums
can the baffled Bumbler muster,
no bold gold bribes
through influential families filtered,
no military machine itself assembles,
no clever Generals convene to connive
on his bewitched behalf.

The Heavenly Bodies have all
long since been named,
the myths made,
the high songs sung,
the epic scenes
all painted, framed,
and while his dreams swim
in Eastern imagery:

kohl pots
of wood and ivory,
exquisite, etched with curious care,
the Priestess painted hennaed hands,
the langurous clank of brown, bangled wrists,
a slender finger ringed in amber-

is our Fool fool enough to drape
his yeoman, hairy hand
upon the lowest (yet still ascending) rung
and through thoroughly thrilled throat
state and simply mean-

Namaste?