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MORE STREAM November 8, 2012

Posted by brownsweaters in poetry.
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She’s running down the hall now, every so often pulling her hands

to her face in a combination of panic, and fear and love.  She sees a

light in the distance and at last feels free enough to lower her arms

to her side.  She stops.  Come here, she thinks, come to my side.

 

He looks down the hall and sees her standing there, arms loosely at

her side, an expression of openness about her.

 

Each takes a step towards the other.

 

His are crisp and direct and straight forward with a certain

purposefulness as heels hit the floor in a rhythmic staccato.

 

Her steps are breezes of fog across an early morning lake.  Sun from

an eastern source illuminates her, a backlit glow surrounds her,

each slow-motion step bringing her closer to him, still gently,

still gracefully.

 

He falls to his knees as she comes within reach.  He lowers his head,

tucking his chin far into his chest, exposing the back of his neck,

exposing his soul for her to see.

 

She reaches out, billowing fabric draping from her arms and flowing

as a hawk might soar high

above ancient trees.

 

He trembles seeing her so close, close enough to touch and take into

his arms

and surround himself with her forever.

 

She kneels in front of him, placing her hands on his head,

feeling his hair, his warmth,

the trembling of anticipation.

 

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