In the pineforest in the black silence of the night
she stands: her hands are
bats*
In her skirt rests the longing of
the lonely
cheeks, eyes, pale lips
white children
On the beach in the grey stillness of dawn
she stands: her eyes are
caverns
On her back hangs the pain of
the lonely
wounds and scars, blood that's spilled
shadowimages
On the stubble field in whispering blue dusk
she stands: her breasts are
straw and clay
Beneath her feet lies the uncertainty of
the lonely
If that ground will be ploughed
no one knows
Stunning.
-JeSS