Enchanted

The enchantress lifts her skirts,

and twirls a dance.

Oranges, golds, sepias and crimson

fly out into the sky,

fluttering pieces of gold.

They land in the eves of the gutters,

cleaving eastward

towards the grounds of forgetfulness.

Glistening with the wetness of dew,

they invite me into a revelry of attention.

She breathes with a sigh,

sometimes a howl chilling my soul,

and then a whisper

as she winds her way though my life.

Mesmerized, I am lost in the changes,

which shift into a frieze of winter.

With a flounce of delight,

the flirting continues

as she dances into the night.

 Kay Ekwall

©2002