Printed muslin dress flowing in the breeze
Azure eyes open to a vision,
A girl of seventeen jetes across slick polished wood to Brahms.
Three decades pass the dancer embracing a moment
Where all turn to entwine and sing,
Drums beat in tune, but voices rise to the clouds
Only the sound of feet as they walk halls, coughs, cries for relief
Must the dying be left to suffer alone?
Hearts sink lower singing the blues
Our feet are leaden imprints in stone through thickets
Of black-eyed susans crowding the rusted bench
That sits among twisted vines of purple wisteria
Transcending Monday, floating above pain.
Noreasters blow surges of rain, pelting against colored glass
Never cracking the carved patterns' rainbow of light
Through your gentle soul that yields
Your sail to the wind.
(c)Carolyn Sanford
published in Skipping Stones 2003
Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA
No comments:
Post a Comment