Lois Elaine Heckman
We dance naked in the wind,
waltzing the days, shimmying the nights,
bending with the synchrony of our intentions,
as we sway without steps
and feel lymph surge through limbs
to charge caresses with vitality.
We hide our love in the leaves
until heat blossoms messages
that whisper perfume to penetrate the senses,
tempting handmaidens in polychrome gowns
to work the magic of generation.
We watch the seed burst forth
and shower promises of lives to come,
settling and taking root in the struggle to unfold.
We host armies preparing battles,
as they gather provisions
for upcoming sieges,
and we give hospitality to choirs
at the height of our abundancy.
As we weather, weaken, wither,
our crowns may lose luster and fall to revolutions,
climbers penetrate defenses, trammeling our trunks,
and winterís chill hibernate vigor;
but we will resurrect to exuberance, to plenitude,
awakening again to dance naked in the wind.