PASSING FOR NORMAL

Whispers in the woods ...

And a wave of her scent
Lighting up the dark --
Was it cold that night?
Did she slant his destiny
away from harm’s way?
Was it cold,
or was it her shadow
in the meadow
playing with the light?

And a vision of her face
Lurking in the corner --
Did he strut in the moonlight
down the hills of pine,
down the cedar road?
Did he wrap his tired shoulders
with a garment of oak?
Or did his languished limbs pine
to the forgotten hills?

And a dream of her robe
shivering in the wind --
Did the grass lick his finger tips,
cold as the stones cold as the grains,
swollen like the half-ripe cherries,
electrifying like autumn chills?
Did her eyes sparkle like laughter in the woods ...
Her lips golden like half-open flowers Call his name?

And a wave of her scent
Lighting up the dark --
And a whisper and a dancing shadow ...
And his cold hands,
hugging her hair like an amber comb,
stroking her cheeks like beats of gentle rain,
like the glittering shine on the flickering stream,
like tender dew distilling down slowly on a green waxy stem ...

Did she pass him through?
Or was it the morning ray,
sweeping through the night
on a November day?





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Happy anniversary