Wingéd Creature
by Joyce Wilson
I would have raised an early summer storm,
And yet the morning sent me fluttering.
Your garden stones, inviting and so warm,
Attracted me, for I was shivering.
You watched me in contortions of distress
And picked me up and held me in your palm;
And then the ardor of your sudden kiss
Enveloped me with passion and alarm.
I might have stayed a month, or even more,
Where waters shimmered, carefully controlled
Between embankment flowers fed with ore.
And then my veins were pumped with liquid gold.
I did not mean to laugh at you, transfixed
By our moment, or reject the woman charmed.
But once I found my wings, my muscle flexed.
You stooped to catch your love. I stood transformed.
Copyright © 2003 by Joyce Wilson.
