I met her as a blossom on a stem
Before she ever breathed
and in that dream…
The mind remembers from a deeper sleep
Eye learned from eye,
cold lip from sensual lip.
My dream divided on a point of fire;
Light hardened on water where we were;
A bird sang low; the moonlight sifted in;
The water rippled, and she rippled on.

She came toward me in the flowing air,
A shape of change, encircled by its fire.
I watched her there,
between me and the moon;
The bushes and the stones
danced on and on;
I touched her shadow when the light delayed;
I turned my face away, yet she stayed.
A bird sang from the center of a tree;
She loved the wind because the wind loved me

~Theodore Roethke