There is no angle capturing all her grace.
No camera, lens, or filter sees her quite,
Beyond a sliver, slice, a fragment, or trace—
But waves on the shore; the sea escapes our sight.
In this one, smiling, golden, dimpled, and fair
Of skin, of temper, in effervescent bloom.
Here feline, feral, restive, and wise to the snare.
A daughter of Faunus, born of the forest’s womb.
Now glittering, scornful, she of cruel allure,
‘Neath arched brow surveying the supplicant crush.
With ebon nails like talons, fit to skewer
Unworthy hearts as mine, that swoon and blush.
Three aspects here listed; countless yet unseen;
But time and space condemn me to glimpses so mean.
Sonnet to A.
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