A Lament of Recognition
He, steady as the roots of a yew ancient and deep tangled silent beneath the surface where nothing else can grow for unknown reasons. She, restless as the busy robin scrapping for worms far off to feed babies, flitting about near the yew where rests her nest. He, emotionally unavailable as the ebb and flow of the ocean’s tide moving all in dangerous undertows of love. She, expressively dancing in foam of feeling on waves caught in winds capricious ever changing, ever confounding. They are bound to one another in ways she doesn’t like and he doesn’t understand like oceans and sky and earth in ancient fires of wordless passion. They see other, though, in games of domination-- not connection in the larger scheme of Other who rains down fiery judgment in airy lament. © 2009, Tess Lockhart. All rights reserved. |