Storm

The night the windows blew open
in her dream.
She reached for the love she had had
and what there was now.
There the demons with no eyes
and too many hands.
A wax face melted. Stone eyes then.
Each time she woke and slept again.
Is this what the ocean was?
Agitation without end?
Were there demons trapped in the tides?
Were they the fish who never swam?
Drusilla came to lie beside her.
Drusilla laved her mother back to dream
the land was dust again, and rain’s
tattoo on the corrugated tin roof.
The day kept up the clouds. It stormed.
There was only one demon:
walking as high as the sky
across the horizon, dancing, spinning.

(27 October 2012)

copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander