Just this morning our landscapers were removing a couple of long suffering Cypresses from our front yard.  I love trees and suffer when we have to send a few to their reward.  This morning I remembered a line from a poem I wrote as a young women…

“The trees are my grandfathers and I can’t stand to see them die…”

I pulled out a folder of old stuff I’d saved hoping to find the poem.  I didn’t, of course, but I found a stash of my angst-filled, love lorn verse(some of it quite good).  I also found the following.  It is from a couple of decades ago.  It’s about fire….  It’s weird, but much better than I thought…..So I thought I would share this Bliss:

Shadowdance

I let you in through my window last night

So soon after the fire, the sick burnt wood smell,

The husky black clouds still smoldering above.

I raised the sash at the sound of wind chimes,

Laid a blanket over my sweater box and flirted with you

All night long.

At sunrise we drew the shades to hide you

From the circling helicopters.

Then we ran, full out, far deep into the barren wasteland

You newly laid.

And burrowed in the dirt that would cool your burning heart.

Sate your desire.

Until again your voice would find flame.

But I will rise with you then.

Clad in scarred bark and crumbling leaves.

Singing a funereal howling refrain to sand dunes and desert.

Dancing a swirling manic circle game;

A pavane for a dead garden,

A prelude for a seed.

© 2016 Carolyn Mora