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By Echolocation Date: 2001 Dec 01 Comment on this Work [[2001.12.01.17.09.446]] |
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Wind rushes in the high pine trees with the sound of surf breaking on a long shore Clouds glide smoothly, swiftly across the sky, skaters on a frozen blackness Spangled with ice-chip stars Full moon tips the blowing leaves with silver, Turning the red wine to black Even as it edges our glasses with white fire In the distance, coyotes howl a pagan hymn I lean back against your warmth Your arms slip around me as you rest your chin on my head For a brief moment, now stretches out to forever As we stand silently drinking in the night |