Oh soul, you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less, why do you worry?
You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
I worry. I research. I write like a grad student. I read my writing with dismay. I rewrite.
I wonder, what is it you want to know? How old is the statue? Where she was found?
Or, do you want to know how I feel about Winged Victory?
I’ve loved her always.
My heart leapt when I saw her at the top of the stairs in the Louvre.
I sat with her, soaking in her majesty, her power, her strength and golden wings.
I wonder, why is it so hard to recognize my own beauty? I see it but I don’t feel it.
I know I am the soul, of the soul, of the soul, but I forget. I know you forget too.
We are the cosmos, the earth, the sky, deep blue and clear.