Girl Wandering
she comes in fall like
the wild swans, she
invisibly dances before me
leaving a trail of feathers
which I follow and gather
until I am her:
the Girl Wandering.
she is seldom seen except in lonely alleys,
and the street lamps blink out
as she slips beneath them leaving a trail
of woodsmoke,
relentless as the turning
of the seasons.
she'll be gone by spring
but is never really gone. |