Emily, Princess of Her Mind

Ode to Emily Dickinson
Up high within her room, the window raised, she thrusts her silky hair
From a secret world of steamy, breathless, morning sea-air.
Dancing sprightly upon awakened imagination with unwillingness to wait
For a constructive instant, but snatches an idea from all her spaces,
Consigned to dwell as a fairy-tale princess who lives for a Word.
From the silence of Nirvana on paper, too crumbly, now unfurled,
Upon recipes she mixes for Zeus to taste, but, not so aptly, so sure.
Pure magic is the wind that catches and plays with her coiffure,
Stirred from Olympus? In fear, she commands the windows to close,
As from Her soul springs the sweetliness that only her mind can know.
Tender is her cry to claim a word, a thought, but not the might,
Of thinking pen that sings from secrecy, writing through the night.
A craft poured from a mix of love, to her ne’er no man shall bestow.
A greater love was her indwelling; greatest, most true, truest abode!