The Wellbeloved Rachel

a maiden since middle school
smelling like silver.
welling naturally, confined inside
with tales aside brains, pushed
by wend and ink.

certain solitary puddles
they stay for a time, absorbed by
earth and skies; so tender an
account, with corrals in coiling
captured, given grace, still
gangly—mid-myth, spotted
eagle, phoenix dyes.

upon passing a spout, a maiden
in dress, never a greater sight.
she spoke Hebrew, fair, delicate
skin, bejeweled, from ankle to
neck and nape. she drew water
spoke softly, a dream for most men.
he was swift to help, quicker to
steal a chance, negotiated for soul
and glitter. a wedding was
delayed.

no more by cries—the inside
penalty, a lesser in line, most different
in time; most different in mind:
mandrakes, debates, renting out
a soul, made husband of two.

the colors have words; most earn
the vines, iridescent talismans, sin
sweet in sensation.