He’s looking rapt at her long gray hair. Love
is a weak word known for its lack of strength
to keep a heart whole. Her face full of sheen
off the lake surface makes her body glow.
The light flows through shadows down to her feet.
Somebody’s voice is coming through the door,
"Before I disappear," he touches her
on the elbow. She turns to him. She gives
him a hand to hold, her eyes filled with shine
open into whirlpools. He doesn’t know
where he’s going next but it will be here.
He just can’t tell what it will be like when
she goes. Is there a sound in that deep well
that will surround the figure of her soul?
(1 August 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander