Across the empty page,

slanted light stretches,

curls, folds to shadow.

Dusk sways the curtains,

whispers their edges,

slips through,

strokes the near wall.

What did you say?

I have been wondering

when we might mingle

with twilight, dawn

or the shades between.

Must we fade against the wall first?

Must we slant against the sill?

Hand, open, brushes the milky sheet.

What did you say?

This hollow

holds a lake. Infuse

the water, cause waves

to lap to its edges.

Beneath the surface…

characters of varied colors,

consonant designs. Silent,  

they silk their way

into hand, breast, breath.

Kiss this open vowel

and let the creatures

swim in you.

 

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© Copyright 2005 Susan M. Botich