Diane M. Laboda

Beyond the Glass

A leaf dances along the window sill
driven by the breeze, skimming the glass
on the other side of my bedroom window.
The dew in early morning
is almost erased by sunshine heat,
grasses flow in luxurious waves.
 
I watch the leaf dance, a little left,
a little right, teetering topsy-turvy,
hanging on barely, playing
the slipstream of breezy balance,
seeming keen on the journey
and pleasure of my notice.
 
What is left of the dew twinkles
across thick iris and hollyhocks,
thirsty for nourishment
and bathed in  silky skin.
Too soon dried, they become scaly,
piebald and scalded, thirsting for more.
 
Hope grows when waves inundate
the grassy field across the road,
threaten to overflow, flood the yard, garden,
my front porch, break through the glass pane,
salve my eyes, soothe the dryness settling in my heart,
and make me believe again.
 


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