When the universe was a green and sleeping seedling,
A sighing, supple breath of green, flickering deep beneath the tawny sand,
Your eyes were born,
I know it, because they tell me stories that all run together, and seem without a start or end,
They came first before the stars, and taught them how to shine,
Sang their spinning harmonies,
Breathing chords and chimes in space,
From your words the world wrests balance, sweet dreams goodnight and morning skies,
It understood itself the more you grew, the more it saw,
Drawing constellations where your fingers fall, gash gall black great belts of light,
From underneath discovering itself, and where you kiss below grows lifely,
Fauna flawless swooping arcing flight,
How can I keep up? How do I begin to describe you?
How do a thousand suns and stars and moons, how does every living thing,
Every sound and texture to describe you, universe, myself,
Force themselves from this small and mortal mouth of mine,
Which, itself is nothing until defined by words of yours,
How can my hand hold it all,
How can I dream to wield those things this world of mine has made itself upon,
How can I hope to hold at all,
When you choose to open me all bare and naked,
When every shivering all-enthralling you, like rain, begins to fall?
I was one of the few that loved Latin at school although I declined to progress it further and only took UK Latin exams up to the age of sixteen.
I was aware that 'A' meant before - so blushingly I had to look up 'Priori'. I think it vaguely means before the beginning??
Anyway - once I'd got that under my belt, your poem not only becomes clearer it also becomes much deeper - a poem to read again and again - and I will do - and most likely come up with my own interpretation - that's what poems are for.
This is intellect and style travelling together, that extra mile.