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(Inspired by Sisters in Spirit street march, October 2010.)

The street, a mask

changes with the light

bare teeth

and indiscriminate warfare

water, hard against night

breaks sweet, like roses in winter

lost inside some greater dream of God.





For years I waited for rescue

then I prayed for escape

watching the bare rocks

in beguiling waters

the violence of ropes

and the silence

that breaks against sililoquies.





The sky that speaks

of the Lavender one,

the girl who hides

in silences

sleeps quiet in stairwells

within storm clouds,

and the joy of strangers.





By blue gables,

and the dance of the fisherking

he who tells stories

into the night,

perhaps you will call me

the Lavender girl

at the market

in the spring,

lilacs and roses.





Dreaming on winter skies

the stone

cold against skin

warm and within

the fresh untwined fish, sleep

so quiet

the suggestion of apricot preserves

the ripe, soft muffled cry

past the time of reason,

and nights that run with roses.




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