The deer float into the open stepping through panels
of sunlight, frozen like a still life painting for long moments,
then bounding miraculously back to life.
The wind leafs through my body like the pages of a book,
reading the stories of my life, hissing, laughing, crying,
offering no criticism.
The roses paint themselves like the ladies of the night, hoping
I will bring them love, and the willows' green tents of shade
inviting me to tea.
The sun is rising, its warrior helmet of fire the first
to break onto the battlefield, and the moon trailing
a gossamer gown sprinkling shadows in the snow.
In the clear, damp chill of morning, the Earth waits
to be charmed, the sweet scent of flowers and fur
mixed in with crumbly rain spotted aromatic dirt.
I believed I was lonely when I set out to walk among trembling
leaves marking my path with the clattering ecstasy
of my need for you, so alive and so soft.
