Windmill Girl
The Windmill Girl
My dark, broad shouldered friends
sit and circle me
with clinging night
their foggy words swirl all around,
words of breath, their story now
attends me.
“ Windmill girl, gaze eyed at the dying day
when all the world found lovers
finds her tears among the musty flour.
Her desolation ...
her only fierce companion
beneath the yellow ripped sky.
Early night owl on the sill
eyes as big as the thoughts of gods
leads her through the stuttering leaves
past the tree where the robber hung
to the lake where the howling started.
Close by a window where a witch was leering
near the faerie twitching peat bog
beyond that place that no one speaks of
through St. Leonard's forest
where the last dragon died.
And sleeping 'neath a
bush of moonflowers
wearing his life upon his face
and hands that made a wild horse tame
was he. “
Then my dark and true companions
slipped from their shoulders
their cloaks of jet,
let the streams of morning
invade our circle..
as a feather fell upon my head.
