She is so strong she has to be careful not to appear hard.
So she softens things with laughter and daubs of make-up.
But it is not necessary. Her heart is a little girl’s;
With freckled red cheeks that ripen
To red at the drop of an embarrassing comment.

Her eyes are watchful. No Gazing; Always intent on a target. Moving.
Her legs and arms are naturally tawny strong; A woman who works at fitness.
Her kiss is tentative at first; A wanting caution feeding the flames like twigs and kindling.
Gradually it grows smoky and thick.
Then a full fall foliage fire erupts in the neighborhood. Someone calls the police. They don’t come.

Her view from the peak sweeps all aside. A majestic mountaintop
Overlooking a basin fed by too many waterfalls to count.
Actual game is visible to the naked eye. Deer, Bear, Grouse.
The gun does not rule here, although she is heavily armed.
And has a license to conceal it.

She is only nameless to you because you already know her.
A nearby glade holds her briefly as she flies through on a white steed.
Sometimes she hikes beneath your window, but you never hear or see her.
Still, she is there. Moving through your life making things go better, easier;
Love is her mantra, her purpose, her meaning,
And the sound that she makes is the sound of life breathing.