October 19, 2011

The Cruse by John Swain


Red dragonflies sparkled
when she poured water
from the cruse onto a rag
for the back of my neck.
I dreamed of the strength
to recover
and live simply and clean
for the sake of her favor.
I cooled under the sheets
in the air
as she counted out beads.
The window kept the day
alive for us
until a sleep finally came
and I turned from her face.

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