Janice Auth
In the silence of a morning
woven of cricket rhythms and tree songs
bird conversations and blooming;
through my silky haze roars a jet
and no wishing can block out its rough growl
its savage violation of this virgin day.
I have dreamt of her
soft skin and silky
blooming wide eyed and trusting
wondering.
Now seized by images that I do not desire
I am possessed by a knowing that I do not want
ripping through the fabric of each new awakening
She is flying.
I must move.
Copyright (c) 2004 by Janice Auth