as the wind writes lyrics in fields of wheat
my hands make poems with the strands of your hair
syllables of sunlight and shadow
lace cascades of surprise
an arbour for lovers lost in their limbs
rain weavings hung in a cathedral sky
curls that twist into seashell spirals
release like the fronds of ferns in spring
then with a head toss the constellations scatter
new moods to sift from a tangle of motion
little dramas to unravel
and I discover you’ve had another lover
the fingers of the wind, my mentor,
have already combed a love sonnet through your hair
Rae Crossman