Feathers

How often, when you are on my mind,
I have to think of feathers:

The touch of your hair against my cheek
is the downy kiss of a feather;
your lashes are feathers, light and soft and fragile,
and when tears cling to them they are
ruffled by the rain;
your soul is a delicate feather,
so rich and rare and colourful,
I stand in awe of its beauty;
your smile, so radiant and accepting,
is the bliss of feathers on my soul;
your arms are feathers, soft and warm and
comforting as they catch my fall into sadness;
your shoulder is a soft feather pillow
soothing my head with solace;
your hands are feathers as they stroke my hair
lightly like a gust of wind through the leaves.

No wonder feathers
are my emblem of beauty,
no wonder that snow for me is feathers
kissed down as a blessing from heaven,
no wonder I am so afraid
some wind might blow you away,
no wonder my life would crumble to ashes
if ever I should lose you.

29.12.04