Etude

I knelt at the foot of an ancient rock tree
imagining the caverns of the day;
twelve birds rose up, circling me,
then quickly flew away.

Sylvie came to my shoulder at noon
and whispered her secret delight.
We walked the channels of the moon
then haunted the corners of night.

The fifteenth hour of the thirteenth day
and the oak is leaning southward.
Her hair dances in the shallow bay.
The leaves cark like a demon sword.

The plains of the forest are an ark
no matter where the river goes
our bodies form a tender bark
and navigate the icy floes.