Musings* Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I shall be
your weather eye,
watch over you,
wage war
against all storms,
and hold you tight
when rains
and icy winds
fall from a heartless sky.
I'll take your hand
and lead you to
the Cantadora's cave,
where secrets hide,
beneath gray webs
handcrafted by
ebony-skinned
arachnoids
from the silent past.
My hollow hand
be filled from springs
inside hard granite stone,
to offer you a drink
and you to me
from salty brooks
still tepid,
bearing specks,
and miniature balloons,
the air is still,
though musk now hangs
from bony stalagtites,
the scent of heavy cream
like lava, nectar flows
our sacred bond,
none may be spilled,
we stay,
becoming statues
at the fountain
of our love.