She lies hidden there beneath the surface,
where waiting in silence she gives no sign;
then all of a sudden, without warning,
she comes, and just as soon is gone again.
When the quiet mood of dawn has lifted
and only tattered scraps of mist remain,
she whispers softly of secret longings
too sacred for the light of the new day.
As the bustle and bursting energy
of conscious thought engulfs the waking world,
she lingers laughing in the soft shadows;
and watches as the frantic sparks collide.
She winks an eye in a lost, dreamless sleep
and stretches out in her langorous skin,
seeped into the pores of an gnarled old oak.
She seeks the core of all living matter.
While the senseless chaos of daylight sounds
its bright feverish song, through her ancient bones
she breathes out in her dark and dulcet tones
a current of energy that few can hear.
Until, as the last light that lingers fades,
she wakens and through the ink sky ascends;
Even then, though we glimpse her illusion,
she lies hidden there beneath the surface.
28 FEB 2002