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(Poem by Wendy Howe ) Maybe it is running all the errands and managing a second household while her brother lies in the hospital that leads to this dream. Once asleep, she finds herself poised on a balcony observing how the sky fills its dark lungs with moonlight and white gardenias. Below, seawater ripples against the vertebrae of an ancient pier; she can feel the salt and flowers commingle in scent, casting her spirit underneath the evening tide. Downward, she descends slowly as if peeled from the landscape's bone; and her shadow hovers in the bright pulse of water and tangling plants. Soon she sees the ruins of a stone villa etched in the blue, blue silence. Columns, statues and urns delineate half a garden, a house and herself seeking the serene antiquity of another woman's life; a lady whose pace floated through the hours, her opalescent hands catering to the neckline of a lover and a jar filled with raisin wine. To know more about Wendy Howe All Images & Poems (En) |
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