Vision: at the table

the woman next to me
at the vast table turns.

Young, robed in blue of night
and her hair: corkscrewed night

Her eyes: hour before dawn.
Hooked nose, smile bent upwards.

And then: a ringing slap
a hand darting from a sleeve

to leave a red imprint
on the cheek of my dream.

A laugh, warm as starfall
a kiss to my red cheek.

“Wisdom comes with a slap
and a kiss,” she whispers.

And then I find my feet
back in the dusky sand

coarse grains wearing my soles
pale foam crashing, darkness

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About whitecatgrove

The musings of a Druid priestess, singer, poet and musician in Upstate New York.
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