As the barrow stone in the stunted woods warms, smooths, in the spread and steam of horses blood the winds insist your choice knife gripped, riding a sprinting breath you turn to ask Claudia but she's wrapped in the sun tethered halfway to the sky <

As bubbles lifted from the buzz of conversation by summer evening earth's exhale we inform the curious clouds where we reform, take shapes, play snowballs with the crystals play mirrors with the stars and turn to ask Claudia but she just nods up from her wooden Hexenhaus to castles in the air <

At the point where the poppy gathers the sun by the ashes of hope by the bloom of the martyr's fire breath sucked to choke muscles aching to flame the songs of the sparks infuse your head in the heat of the moment you turn to ask Claudia but all her desert eyes reveal are steel glimmers in the smoke <

The foam passing of the crest slide to the wallow and through past visitors, past surface dancers, past runners, hunters, flatland dwellers, past grasp of wind and moon down in the still you turn to ask Claudia but she just cradles you and rocks laughing with the rhythms of the deep <

(Sep. 2002, © Alan M. Raphaeline)