First Her Neck Poem by James McLain

I smelled her hair first her neck was it like?
Honey from a very small center of busy bees.
Her kiss is like the moon between heaven
and from our light earth spins a blind eye.
Her mother loves his vision which she loves.
Bright is the daughter she is light I write of the sun.
The surface of it is as grass spun from gold.
The night does not learn that he scorns the dust,
after the moon, lying down looking up, it I yearn.
Place him on the center of the road, you he will praise.
He entered this sky of thousands of stars
these run across her face.
I reached out, not knowing, she chose my door,
and could be caught in order to ask and the hand came.
He continues, from the center the earth it is speaking,
and can amuse the doubt which is not.
Put your hand on that head, look away and pray that the wave.
Both hands under the moon to raise them you point I threaten,
however breath from above fills up that sail,
perhaps him or her maybe to both it comes to drift
to the heaven of peace.
It is not but love with him breathing rapidity,
and do to forget,
he must come to your center,
and permit the fact that he has been raised.