beaming luminance into the shadows
of my thick and silent solitude.
You are the waxing moon
in my darkest night
where direction proves elusive.
You are the anchor
armed with flukes of succor
for this flotsam soul adrift.
You are the scanty melodies
heard faintly within the howling wind
blowing tumbleweeds through my void.
You are the voice that rivals
the illusions that gather on the banks
of that river in Egypt.
You are vulnerable in your power
powerful in your vulnerability
You are the doorway to sweet surrender
nocturnal longings realized
passion trails etched in my back.
You are my mirror
the outcome of my choosing.
Copyright © Henri Ferguson 2004