(Poem by Wendy Howe)
see also the french version

She strokes the harp
in white sleeves of silk
and pulls his soul
out of musicís golden rib.

She feels the poignancy
of emotions drift
upward like the river
and widen
into the seaís ruffled foam.

Memory sings of that day
when her husband stood
on the coast painting
sandstone cliffs and birds
who chalked the sky
with the graceful script
of their wings.

She sat near him, legs curled
under a white dress, hands
exploring the finer details
of his beach.

Her fingers traced
the pale etching on a shell
and she thought of him asleep,
eyes closed while slight creases of skin
marked the night tide
of incoming dreams.

He dreamt in the rhythm
of blue saltwater,

of dune grass swabbing
her shoulder

with a tinge of summer,
with the touch of an artist
who loved her watching him

in the silence behind the surf,
as the impulse
behind his creation.

© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail:Wendy Howe
To know more about Wendy Howe

(Drawing by Marie-France Rivière)


© 2011, Marie-France Rivière.

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