She only shows her lithesome self at certain times of day
(just once, to be precise; although it feels like many more
to those incited to explore the literature on rocks and stones)
like sunlight glinting on the runelike facets of a jewel you may adore.
A myriad faerie glancings dancing spritely in a certain way;
I swear you would, like me, exalt her to your princely throne
of state and through her mysteries she would fascinate —
elusive as a fish deep in a stream or pheromonal fragrance
floating blithely on a breeze or wispy wyndly unremembered dream.
This jewel I hadn’t seen before; but yet somehow I knew its name.
The hesitating dance in which we lightly step has set my heart aflame.
Scintillation — fascination (from baskainein, to bewitch)
has swathed me in its gemstone like a priestly chant in perfect pitch.
© Alan Morrison, 2013