She is
over four turns of the dial
still warm in cold night
breasts rising slow in gentle point
thin arm thrown above
open reddened mouth in silent word
forming answers beneath waves
arranging dreamworld
her thin clavicle
a legacy necklace sharp in time
moving toward final curtsy
she fills the whispering room
with life even when unaware
her power is in the finish
shining like wet tears
on taut skin
she owns the feathered night
in silence she is
more beautiful than waking
and dawn can ever be
for her magic belongs to
that dark songbird
never seen
Nathalie