THE
INTRUDER
By M. E. Wood
The gold fingers
shone
Through the blinds lazily today.
They caressed the furnishings so lovingly.
Flints of dust danced in rows
Without a care in the world.
Every so often
a cloud would blanket the sun
Cutting off my magical display of eroticism.
I felt deadened and cold to see that it had gone.
But the delight of its birth awakened and
Enlivened me as the cloud retreated once more.
Oh what sweet reward is this?
What have I done to deserve your gratitude?
Thank you for your kindness
And your warmth of sweet sun.
Brighter now,
The fingers are jutting into the floor.
Making their mark on my manmade grass.
Cutting into the earth to find what?
Nothing but fibers and stuffing.
And whatever other little critters
That may have burrowed into the ground.
This is my own little piece of nature
Come into my home.
The fingers are
softening again.
The clouds come to take over the room
Covering it in blackness.
Oh sweet blackness.
Cool and refreshing.
That is what the darkness brings.
Time for healing and regeneration.
Time for rest.
Oh let me rest wise father
For I am tired and need to grow my strength.
Will you bid me a welcomed rest?
Perhaps
you will lie down with me
And rest yourself.
Your weary soul is in need as well.
I am not greedy.
Come, you take your rest first.
I shall wait.
I shall keep watch
While you hibernate for a time.
But not long.
I can not do it for long.
For I am greedy and want to benefit to.
Rest. Rest.
But not too soundly
For I may need to call upon you.
You who knows all.
You who are my guide
In this life and the next.
I will
be silent.
Silent for you.
I will sit here in solitude and watch
Your golden hair dance in the air of my room.
Sweet dreams.
*published
in Umbrella,
November/December 2003 |