Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

She Dances To Moons

I wrote this for a precious friend, she of so much giving and caring. She has her family. Her faith. Her friends. She has a spirit that shall never grow old and that is her greatest gift to me. I only wish I were a better writer for her.

she waltzes with moons
in a garden of words.
one hand to
the red ripe,
the other
to vine.

a look up
to wishes cast
from a bayou dock
deep in the stillness
of the black
with a casual glance
knowing the pearl-topped
have graced her yesterday
before leaving
for another’s youth,
another’s tomorrow

she loves where
she’s been,
she’s been where
she’s going
and she trances
to second-hand books
and far away looks

love is flawed,
this she pens
in her palimpsest
but her garden
more beautiful.

a treasure
to her friends
and friend to
their treasure
she pours herself
and they drink her
her long stem
to the nectar
of a dragonfly’s ebb
while we rim our finger
and lip the sweetness,
only to
cherish the taste
of her untamed garden
and fevered library.

she dreams,
still, as before.
Bohemian and cut-offs
seventeen forever
and taller than the clouds
and wonders,
and grapples
with the answers
an indifferent bayou

and she dances to moons
with fat red tomatoes
with skinny arms
to her skinny legs
in her garden
of words.

and her garden grows more beautiful
with every dance
and every verse.
pictures and poetry
Stevie Nicks
and morning glories
and tomorrow

A soft, sure smile
She to us
us to her
cupped hands in drink
arm to waist
a garden walk
with a very special friend.