reposed, she sits between the lights.

these november lights that brush against

her flesh; eyes, lips & nose.

in a symphony formed by

luna's grace and crestfallen summer winds,

they don't know my name.

yet, they worship every edge of her being

they beg for her salvation

and hers alone.

silken pleas, here lay my vows

by the edge of the riverbank

by the cornerstone of the path

you tread.

mystic lores— she whispers to me

when my eyes fall heavy

and my limbs numb

in the darkness,

amongst the shadows

the river creek's

songs come undone.