Without your face
There would be no poem
Or any word that calls out
To anyone but a faceless god
Who may or may not be there –
It is your face, not hers or his,
But yours that hides and reveals
An elusive YES. It is
Your face that gives rise to
“How do I love thee?”
The night itself becomes
All eyes or call them stars
Dawn arrives with a golden tongue
All the world comes into being
Waiting to hear and be heard
Your face a burning flower