The Spell


No words


the smoke rises

she turns looking

at the only face

that has stayed with her

shining silver


changeless over ages

she tells the moon her dreams

her wishes

shadows wait



waiting to carry her love

on the wind

letters consumed

flames and wisps


and the ashes dance

lifting lightly

floating over the miles

settling light on a hand

lying in the darkness

lost in the warmth

of her dreams

swirling about him



washing his pain away

waking to the dark



thinking she was there

but the room holds

his breath alone

And she waits

as the waters mirror

that silvered face

framed by the mountains

knowing her secret

knowing her pain

shrouding her desires

as the gilt shadows

dissolve in darkness

to place a kiss

on a furrowed brow

resting restless

scented with cedar and pine

and the stirring incense

of a woman

burning bright on the shores

of a lake

miles away

stirring his heart to her

warming flames

and the moon touches the mountain

in a caress

both knowing

the moment is fleeting

but will

play over and over

in the eons of time

LAS copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixabay



Reflections on Writing on a Rainy Day Alone

Writing lines

small type font

fountain pen

pencil fading

into wisps of smoke

and nothing

the blank page stares

a mirror

pond forming under branches

green and dark full of sound


whispers of my heart

quietly curling in

rising incense

a still room

no beats

no music

no one to hear

scratches in a journal

the pen runs dry