Trading Stories with the Wind
It's in the silence.
The way the wind whispers
of oleander
in summer heat,
jasmine that clings
oh, so gently
to a wayward
tendril of air--
how it speaks, low toned
as to not wake
the curled cat
heavy on my legs.
Of bare footed children,
hands fisted
in the cotton garments
of busy mothers;
tells the secrets
of two lovers, silhouetted
in their forbidden,
a balcony
and the whole of Paris
behind them as silk screen.
How he brought lilies
to sit on her window ledge,
how they danced
in her hands.
I know of the redwood trees
as they creak,
giants slumbering in a forest
that still holds
a whiff of mystery;
the broomtail stallion
and the race for supremacy,
how he lost only
for the strong scent
of female
deep in his nostrils.
A lullaby crooned
next to a hand-me-down crib,
crinkle of yesterday's newspaper
as it laps against the steps
of an old brownstone,
beaded sweat dripped down
carnival dancers
somewhere south, farther
south where details are painted
in even more brazen pictures
than the breeze cares
to relate, shying suddenly
and it tangles in my hair
grabs up the story
of a woman bundled in
wistful remembrance
swifts away to carry its journey
to yet another lonely woman,
eyes locked on the night
waiting to learn of its travels.
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
oh I love this one!!!! YAY!!!
Crazy girl. Haven't you sat in the open air and caught a hint of a fragrance from somewhere else? 
avatar sounds awfully techie lol! if you mean my piccie thingy that's my mollydog... sweet ain't she. two little puppy dogs i see 
i love the ending, wow, this is fantastic and i don't even like nature poems, i am still struggling to catch up to my thoughts... wow Meli, this is amazing..
