Rushlight
Gene Fowler

                        for Amelia

I search for the city
in grey ocean fogs that turn light
back into my eyes
where it lies, waiting to reach out again.

And in this center place
with its faceted windows and white walls
and springing greenery,
i rest past your grin

into your enfolding arms
and curving belly, hearing songs echo
through a small amber light
spinning away

from your eye
to shadow through
this aerie.


Gene Fowler
acorioso@earthlink.net