tops in silhouette below. Velvet sky
falls. I am the bird banging against the
windowpane, dimly lit. Away I fly.
The breeze blows leaves across the lawn of wheat.
They dance and dash in frenzied battle cry.
I too am trapped by winds of fortune; freed
in dreams and storied visions passing by.
The cherry tree's in bloom in winter's chill,
and robin's wings emerge in feath'ry gust.
Inside, the fire warms my heart and stills
disquiet of my soul; return I must
to pictures painted on a page in black
ink wand'rings; riding letters forth and back.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019