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August 31, 2004
Poetry: Waking
WAKING The Sun comes up too early Bleeding light through trees outside my window. Dreams invaded and quickly fading, I stir beneath the sheets. Eyes like butterflies, I fight a silent battle To hold on to the night. The wind moves west And the trees dance. I remember that they dance for him. His laughter is the music. Soft sunlight kisses my face And I remember the fire of his touch, Hot skin soaked in candlelight. I have forgotten his face, his name, All the promises we made, But my spirit still calls to him. It remembers what I dreamt of last night. LM Hutchings (lee) 
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