woman at the window

how to come against,
a found thing,
hinting of gravity,
just as bodyless,
and weighty as hope.
a thing ripe in days,
but few in moments.

welded eyes,
holding the reins,
to the blind bulls,
a wax vessel unsealed,
knocking at ears and tongue,
sennet and savory,
nod approval.

the amphora uncovered,
a gasping flood,
crawls over deserts,
to the singed bloom,
in a cracked rock,
willed to open
on faith of life.

gushing memory,
the pleading horde,
with water and wine,
convinced to sit,
while snakes and lambs,
tell tales of bravery,
and spilt love.

the ring of copper,
fitted and tight,
graces a felt figure,
standing at the window,
in the dress with flowers,
waiting for far more,
than history will allow.

shari diane willadson

Back to the Astrophysicist's Tango Partner Speaks