Pneuma
Nothing had remained in the room but the moist
of her sigh, falling star, orphan in the gleaming sky
a stolen kiss, spring morning, her shoulder, long hair
golden wavy breeze, shy beautiful glance just
escaping through the half-open eyelid, pond surface
where the loon took refuge, the osprey’s tail which
you saw, or you didn’t, her fiery mound, bittersweet
surprise like her breath that stopped momentarily.
That night it rained so heavily no one could hear our
moans. And our sins, what was their purpose?
I like those who don’t keep for themselves even a drop
of pneuma, but struggle only to be pneuma of virtue.

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGFRGLVH