Blessings by Gayle LaVallee
Barefoot and hair unbound,
in cotton gown I lean against the wood frame of my door
and watch the day bleed down to fill the wine-tinged sea.
I close the door.
Now in my room and my small bed,
I turn toward sleep.
Above my roof, darkness moves in to mingle with the darkened spruce.
Clasped loosely in the blue-veined hands of night,
stars, like amber beads of Time, hang scattered in the sky.
Wind whispers aves to the rising moon.