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Wind Song 2004
by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

we make our days,
we weave them
one by one
from sunlight and rain,
a spider web,
and winds,

gently stirring
verdant leaves,
through slender limbs
and twisted branches.

in the spinney,
I hear them,
playing a celestial song,
on the withered boughs
of this small stand of trees,
this copse
a world we have created
here, at Treetops,

this world inside my room.

daylight is sifted,
refracted and filtered
through the beveled,
diamond panes
of my bay window,
this oriel of leaded glass,
to cast rainbows
on an eggshell white ceiling,

this white ceiling
sprinkled with stars,
that glow in the dark,
a souvenir of childhood.

some of us go
all our lives seeking
a womb
with a view.

dans ma chambre
in my chamber
we have found each other,
and we say
that is all we need.

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