She'll find you out walking, this shy god 
who left her golden girdle on the chair 
by the door, went out barefoot and unadorned, 
you will not know her, it does not matter. 
She speaks no language you recognize 
as language, the song of the rhizosphere 
in a meter out of time, the key of decay, 
verse and refrain fragrant like rainwash, 
she will pass you unnoticed and leave you 
to walk in her lingering wake, your hum 
just a bit out of tune, that's okay, she knows 
you're a little shy, too, and sing your best 
songs when you think no one is listening.