Silver Creek
M Sarki

Below a sistine ceiling
she is drawn to a
blanketed arbor.

A dry leaf falls.

Four fallen logs are
poised blank and cross-
tiered above soft beds

of moss.
Stilled water
collects her form.

And the shedding
of her clothes.
Dropping first to

the forest floor
loose things.
Decorations.

Hard plinths.
Indifference.
And each perfect rib.

1996 © 2003