Oz

by Anne Elezabeth Pluto

From across the window
the wind rises
dust, birds, debris
cyclone forward
away as shadow
from me to you
this separation
mutes my heart
noting nothing
I can say any longer
moves body or soul
to the sun bright
brilliant winter
the way I love
the earth — hopeful
and sleeping ice
under my boots
ice in my eyes
ice a cross
my mouth
a cross
the room
in blue
your dark eyes
dart like arrows
my desire akin to
grief now
familiar — a pattern
in a scarf or table
cloth a decoration
for the home.