White Sunday XI

let slip my leash and I will run
run with limbs of quicksilver and skin of glass
passing the wind in my flight
laughing at the sun as I bring the night
not the darkness
but the beauty of the night
the song of the stars
the perfume of the moon
the sound of crickets and distant fading winds
as they shake the sleepy trees

I will run to you, eyes full of wonder and thunder,
seeking only to spend what time you allow
padding along the darker paths
to feel the heat of your skin
when you lay to rest
to smell your breath as you sleep
and imagine kisses I would never dare
as I wait for the rising sun
and run back into dreams
where I will await my reward


William F. Devault. all rights reserved.