(Image is one I took last year)
(After reading "At Last" By, Elizabeth Akers Allen)
In his eyes I am grace –
a heart fashioned in the light
of the sun.
In his palm I am an angel, my wings:
white lace in rivers, weak in-between
days, flutter-less if only for the moment,
if only for the second it takes for my
walls to collapse beside him.
And I slip like summered fruit into his
giving fingers. Together, hand in hand,
we walk the hours caught between us.
His breath, my gravity as we move
from city to sand.
I am utterly on fire.
And I do not have to say it,
but there is no place that I would
rather be.
He cradles my sadness and all four horizons
shift into orchestrated blue--the wind,
a trumpet beneath the sky.
Excited in our coming, it draws him
to his knees. He whispers “You’re beautiful.”
Scattered seas unfasten and we wash away.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Notes kept on the tongue
Babbled by
Ca
at
9:45 AM
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