In the Garden

Quiet as dew on a sweet garden morning,
The smell of the breeze blossoms,
and I intertwine with the transcendence
of watching her with soft desire.
Even the flowers know she is here,
as they open drip and fill themselves
over and over.
Her rhythm and motion is their nature.
Much like they,
I stand in wonder,
Knowing that we are witness,
Having been graced
to glimpse this moment of the Divine.