she is a poem.

the vulnerable

muscles that force them

to remain intact

a leaf, clutching

the branch of early spring

his palms on her skin, the indelible

rumors of time

just sleeping children, buried

under their covers

exposed to the world, they are

more than they know

these things, the quiet and

elusive commodities

but she is the giant, roots

delving deep into the earth

red vines climbing the stucco

in the mid-western autumn

west and to the eastern shore

she mimics and sways

missing only a beat

© 3.27.2015 heather brager