SEWING
by: Shirley Windward

Bless my stitching errors,
and with your kind hand,
correct the hem of
my sleeve. Cure the error
of the thimble, teaching me
to seek out the needle's
prescient path. Show me
the way crooked patterns
seeme to evoke errors that
most please the eye.
Bring me to the wisdom
on the wrong side of the cloth;
and let me find in the
recogmtion of all error
the seamless secrets
of style.

WIND WOMAN
by: Shirley Windward

Through a crack in the window
I see her caramel hair
whipping the naked trees.
I taste the rippling of
her pelvic lyre;
I hear a thread of light
through which she inserts
a set of prying fingers,
whining, expecting me
to accept her cold
and hungry breast. I know
that left to her own devices
she will follow the bright thread
up a twisted spinal path
from tailbone to the
very mouth of God.

Body to body now we meet.
Pay attention!
I bring you sweet agonies colored
with a new sound. I will shape
your days. Sink into my eyes..
I can revoke your sins.

THE SECRET
by: Shirley Windward

Quick, there it is --
the scissor edge
shears half the page
from its binder,
seizing the intractable
quatrain, shredding
all four lines
into burnable squares.
The match flares.
The sweet words shrivel.
A shiver stirs
my spine. Into ash
creeps the little truth.

TRYST - a true sonnet
by: Shirley Windward

I have a trysting with immensity!
It shivers under rib behind the heart
burrowing for its twin, hard past the sky of morning kissed.
Now see the stars depart with curious glance,
defiant to the end of all redemption,
daring dark in turn to make of trysting a mysterious friend,
to teach me wisdom where it's wise to learn,
to marry outer Self to inner Bride
and bring all kisses into centered grace,
her long arms folding him, as face to face,
the lovers rise in loving and abide,
So trysting and so trusting must I be
to keep my tryst with this immensity.