NIGHT
Stars
fall over my face,
All
white and shining rain.
Grass
blades rise with blue wings
And
tie my feet.
Silence
is glass.
My
hands move through the darkness;
And
O, the strange ways they take.
I
greet the moon, disbelieving
Till
her raw silk chill my shoulder,
Silver
in my eyes.
I
hear the music of bare water
Through
grass and hair.
Dawn
under the earth
Disturbs
the dark source,
And
the captive winds
Escape
and dance,
Engraving
a strange new word
Into
the leperous stone.
Witches
come and go under mist mantles
Stitching
and humming.
My
blood is come to the rivers
And
my body fallen into the sky.
The
edge of night grows inexplicable
Bathed
in questions.
–JEANNINE
HARRAULT
1,
Avenue Foch
94,
Saint Mande, France.