Waiting for the Sky

She sits at their roots

waiting

for the sky to call her beautiful

her eyes hunting

for sunlight between

branches that hide the moon

as the wind winds its fingers

through her hair, pushing strands across her

skin in the pale glow

of a trembling forest

and she stands when the

oak trees begin to hum

a deep throaty sound

that envelops her in whispered dreams

of green grass and a white stag

leaving an ache in her bones

and water in her veins

it’s surface pulsating

with the sound and she can hardly bear

the weight of it, its tempo rising

louder and louder until she takes their

branches in her hands to dance

and they step, twirling with the rise

and falls of yesterdays and tomorrows

through the luminosity of stars

in the blaze of dawn, faster and faster

she is nothing but dust and golden cobwebs

their bodies bright with lightening and desire

and her hair is fire and her eyes rubies

the motions of her arms

fluid and diamond in the dark

the thrum of oak and pine

spinning tales of redemption and ruin

until all that is left

is ethereal and it will beΒ enough.

It is

Enough.

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