(Poem by Wendy Howe)
see also the french version

You are the soft wind
of September, hanging your hair
over the vineyard
while church bells echo
in the arch of your back.

Grapes glisten at your feet
and soon their silken skin
will be pressed into wine.

Did you know your lover
waits in the gatehouse
wanting your hand
to press poetry

from his lips
and dreams from his sleep?
Slowly, he awakens
to curtains rippled

by morning shadows
and your scent dusting
the window sill,
        sweet and passionate as faith
          in full blossom.

© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail:Wendy Howe
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(Drawing by Marie-France Rivière)


© 2011, Marie-France Rivière.

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