For the Love of Pycnandra

She breathes
      in shining whispers.  
Cyan, the sap beneath  
      a voiceless bark.  
Her precious stock  
      it stains the ledge.  
   
And all these tears we've cried,  
      every gleaming bead  
Finds its place in what is left...  
   
In what is left of all the waves  
      that crash in bright  
      along the rocking sprays,  
Lashing beneath the creosote silence  
            of a long forgotten pier.  
   
And all these prayers once sailed, now lost  
            to the death of coral  
                        beneath...  
   
I find her there,  
      a brooding light,  
      a throb of some deep delight.  
Peaking through cracks  
            in the pane.