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beautiful Friday morning,

woke by wind’s

whispers and feint

wisp of sleep’s breath.

In dreams

We know who we are

And in day

We spend our hours

Searching for the souls

Who will remind us of this.

She loses herself in the rain

Eyes closed

Heart open

She waits for wind to wash her clean

South-easter’s spell will

Mould magic in her belly

till she calls forth

her own voice

and speaks with such

clarity

the blade of her tongue

will strike like

a scythe

to reap the truth

from her dying body

it’s time has passed

now only her soul speaks

Listen…

And you will hear it:

A single breath of silence

Between a hundred voices of wind

©Toni Stuart, 2010