If you behold the form of whence she surrendered, of what she gave,
Pore over the achromic cloth veiling the worshipped grave,
Itself dissolved in sheer impurities, alloyed within deprave.
If you behold the form of whence she pays, of how she’s confound,
Toss around a candle flaring in the sombre, pouring its impulse around,
Itself smoldered in the sweat, dormant beside the dead mound.
If you behold the form of whence she cloaks, of how her splendors expel,
Frisk the mesh of the veil covering the purity of the damsel,
Itself unbolted against the profane, reposed within its own shell.
And if you behold the form of whence she obscures, of how she upholds the blaze,
Be apprised of how a whisper consigns its word in a million silent ways,
Itself drowned within the spur, hushed within the stir to phase.
If you behold the form of whence she reflects, of how she hails with extol,
See how the mirror reverts the Adonis while concealing the arcane soul,
Itself clung to the fluorescence, animating under a coarse control.
If you behold the form of whence she digs, of how her regards dethrone,
Angle for how remained unsolved the charade of a sailing stone,
Itself crawled under the searing sun, inched with the heft but destiny unknown.
If you behold the form of whence she cedes, of what her being is all about,
Hunt for a floret diffusing the incense in the winds throughout,
Itself agonized with the lash, rubbed out by a boulder merely to sprout.
And if you behold the form of whence she harbors, of how she towers the subvert,
Seek out a cloud that flickers aloft your head in order to keep you unhurt,
Itself burnt canvassing the flare, reshaped, revamped in order to convert.
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