this Veil of Certainty




The Belles,  of The OurGlass

(  Prints,  of Tides  )



Beauty held,  what She thought was Time,  Ever so tightly in Her Hand, 

     and yet All the While,  Age stole Her Smile,  for All She held,  was Sand . . .




from Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The Fourth DoveTale – The Web of Pearls



on The Shores, of Longing




Castles,  made of And

(  fall,  unto Thee  )



     Men will do for Beauty,  what They seldom do for Love . . .





from Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The Second DoveTale – The Sea of Glass




behold The Might of Titans



Pageant,  of Lilies

(  GloryPath  )



with Her Eyes,  on Refinement,

Form assumes a proper Place,

followed so closely by Function,

as Elegance decides the Pace,

and there,  between The Lines,

is Honor,  in Hope’s Embrace,

as Fortitude begins the Dance,

while Patience tends Her Lace,

yet,  Last and ForeMost to see,

Dawn’s Light adorn Her Face,

The Angel of Beauty,  walking,

     in The Wake,  of God’s Grace . . .




from Book III,  The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Eighth DoveTale – The Bridge of Dreams



a Tear, in The I, of The Beholder



The Beauty

(  of A uniVerse  )






is writing,

that formulates a

concentrated awareness

of experience,  in a language

chosen and arranged to create

a specific emotional response

through meaning,  sound,

      rhythm,  and . . .






 © 1990 Merriam-Webster,  Inc. Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary  )



from Book I,  The Ring ( First Light ) The Seventh DoveTale – The Pageant of Lilies




a Thousand Ships of Light










to Her,  They

matter not,


Charm, or

State of Grace,

nor The Quality,

of Form,  or Face,

Manner,  or Voice,

Position,  or Place,

not Wealth,  Style,

Nation or Race,  for

She loves All Things,

Those Great and Small,

where Her Majesty reigns,

     The Embrace,  is One,  and All . . .



from Book III,  The Diamond (  Third Beginning  ) The Eleventh DoveTale – The Whisper of Fulfillment



when Longing weds Desire




The Promise 



               I gaze out upon The Sea,  as The Dawn slowly pours over Me . . . It’s brilliant Pageant of Light dances upon My Bed of Jewels,  where I laid,  under a Blanket of Stars,  to while away The Night’s Passage . . . after a Moment’s Reflection,  and a Prayer to All Things Dear,  I set out toward The Palace,  Once Again,  along The Shores of Eden,  along This Path of Tears . . . and in The Time of A Wink,  My Eyes behold an Image,  a Woman,  of profound Splendor,  walking toward Me,  as if I,  were Her Intent,  as if I,  were Her Reason . . . beside Myself with Wonder,  I could only Hope . . .

                Still,  at a Distance,  for I cannot yet see Her Eyes,  Her Body pleases Me . . . The Sand,  The Sea,  The Sky . . . All are in extreme Clarity,  yet All are completely intangible . . . My Focus is The Spectral Masterpiece in front of Me . . . My Adrenaline is a fevered rush,  and I must command the last vestiges of My Self-Control to resist shattering . . . I keep walking,  struggling to maintain a bearing of Serenity,  and forge onward . . .

                I feel Invincible,  though dwarfed by The Magnitude of Her Presence . . . I am Alone,  with My Trepidation . . . I am Alone,  with Her . . . She moves,  as Liquid,   with a Grace that startles Me,  and She is as Natural to Her Surroundings as is Sunlight,  possessing a Radiance all Her Own . . . She is closer . . . I can see The Smile I have sailed The Millennia to see . . .

                The Sense of Time has abandoned Me,  along with involuntary impulses to breathe . . . Feeling has left My Fingertips,  and My Vision,  save for Her Aspect,  is dimmed beyond Acuity . . . External Light sources are fading,  and All Sound is in retreat . . . conventional Mind synapses are lost,  and core Body functions subsist on primal drive . . . My Mind,  or what remains of It,  is a spinning Vortex of pure,  white hot Awe . . . My Heart,  echoes The Roar and Velocity,  of a Triphammer . . .

                 Her Eyes . . . Eyes that could send Armies into Oblivion,  cause Empires to rise and fall,  The Seasons to unwind,  Suns to blink,  and ordinary Men to Their Knees . . . Windows to Galaxies . . . Her Eyes,  Thresholds to The Oceans of Awareness,  and All that lies beyond The Realm of Understanding . . . and Somehow,  despite the immense Universe of Her Aura,  I remain standing,  walking,  closer . . .

                 The Air seems to be vibrating softly,  but with a Purpose,  as if The Sky were about to crack from The Intensity of mere Thought . . . I have stepped within,  surrounded,  by The Colors of Her Essence . . . as Her Voice crosses The Distance between Us,  spilling over Me like Cool Water . . . I can see Her Words,  flying,  like Jewels across The Cyan Sky,  and I am The Sky . . . She is speaking to My Heart . . . to Me . . . I am spellbound by The Intimacy,  and I must respond and I cannot,  for My Voice became dust,  long ago . . . Closer is no longer possible,  for I am,  where Here,  Is . . .

                Stonemasons,  Artisans,  Poets,  Painters,  and Sculptors down through Antiquity,  have never captured The Loveliness of a Goddess such as She . . . Her Face,  is a Classic Vista of Wonder and Perfection . . . A Mirror of flawless crystal could never cast a Likeness to compare with The Beauty before Me . . . and I am Ever humbled,  in The Presence of Her Majesty . . .

                 I am within Her . . . I am born Anew,  yet I have lost all Sense of Self . . . Desire has become My Master, though We have yet to Touch,  for I feel I would require The Sanctification of Nature to do so . . . yet She,  as if knowing My Thoughts,  and with The Grace of a Swan,  nods Her Head,  and slowly raises Her Hand,  toward My Face . . .

                No Man,  Gone or yet Lived,  has known of This Rapture,  even in Dreams . . . The Fire of Anticipation rivals The Core of The Sun,  burning All Senses . . . to be touched by Paradise,  is to be made One with Her . . . I have never imagined being worthy of This Gift,  of This Ecstasy . . . oh yes,  to dance with The Muse,  in whose Embrace awaits the seldom heard Whisper,  of Fulfillment . . .

                Her Hand caresses My Face,  as She would The Wind,  like Silk across My Skin . . . The Rhythm of Life flows through Her,  and electrifies My Soul . . . and in The Breath of A Moment,  I know All that is in Her Heart,  for She has given Me Her Own . . . She is Earth,  She is Air,  She is Light,  She is The Dawn . . . I stand before Creation’s Daughter,  and I am blessed,  for She,  is The Angel of Love . . .

                 I am wrapped,  within The Music of Her Being,  and I,  begin,  to cry . . .




from A StoryTeller’s Dream ( Dream I ) The Second DoveTale – The Pillow of Hope


Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The Seventh DoveTale – The Robes of Honor