“Jealous Only of the Red Bowl of the Sun”

by Geri Rosenzweig

All the talk is of soul,
fretful princess clearing her throat,
waiting her cue, wings groomed
to a shadow on stones.
Body runs naked on the shore,
breath whistling like sea grass in the wind.
It cares nothing for eternity.
Jealous only of the sun sipping
at the red bowl of the sea,
it rejoices in joint and socket turning
in their one and only landscape
until night arrives with salt soaked hair
to the edge of the dunes –
Obedient as a child,
the body lies down on cool sands,
asks nothing more
than someone's hand to hold in the dark.