A woman takes her seat
amid the sky on such a day,
a place by the breeze
at the window of heaven,
to bow her slender neck
and brush out silver strands
along the softness of air drifts.
She dreams a lyric soaring
but it goes unheard
as the vault ceiling settles
and swallows all sound.
Only a joy-wept breath,
the syllables drop
as messages on the land.
Grasses recline to sleep at last
to the song of light their mother
and the elegant branches
stop gesturing all their crystal.
She combs a rich and gentle cloth.
The bright fibre has a purple cast
of space and earth suspended.
She will lay it down
as a mantle
with the folds of hummocks
and shadowed prints
where birds come flurrying for seed.
Swiftly she covers
small hollows and fissures
as the ground exhales
its last, tired shadows.
November 15, 1995
All written material and images are ©1995-2002 Van Waffle. This page updated Dec. 16, 2002.
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