You Sit, Face Averted

Anonymous One,
You sit, face averted, I'm in awe of you.
The pond's lotuses are your other eyes.
The crickets are your speech, the leaves your sighs.
The corridor of fussing autumn trees, its space,
And twilight jellyfish moon can't exhaust your grace.
You have said bitter things when you were ill.
Your sayings don't always have eagles' eyes.
You sometimes drink, palm resting on the windowsill,
With webbed words that won't let yesterday go.
But you're still Eve before the fall, in spite of woe.
I don't know you at all, though often mind
Thinks it does, enamored as it is with memory.
I have images of you, your being kind, unkind,
Ferocious, a skilled lover, a song in bed,
But these are not you right now, these are dead.
I can't say who you are, so how can I compare
You with others, think you are not quite as rare
Or intelligent or beautiful as they?
Only ideas, images are at play,
And to take them to heart, as though they all
Are you, would be Adam's plight after the fall.