Inner quarrels darken as darkest crow feathers.
On such a glittering day as this,
feeling wounded and shielding.
Staunch and ancestral are the overtones,
A shadow of a memory moves.
A black and white faded glass image
of someone standing in the distance.
I was strayed from home after entrance.
My comfort ran from the cold touch of my fingertips
and quiet lips.
The wooded dreams enchanted that of mountains,
not of lilies still.
My flowers remained in the scent, not the texture and vision.
Beside me stands that warrior as I flit like a fairy around and
around penetrating the atmosphere.
His strong hands brace as he focuses on
the space between these words with
cherished definition as a comrade
in this faith that is I.
© -Sonja J Phinney 11-Feb-2008
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