When she was excited, she spoke a secret language
Of giggles, of sighs, of gasps and moans
And she danced in place like a 4 year-old's Christmas,
Joy spilling from her and filling all space.
It was spring in the meadow. She ran barefoot in snow
Catching flakes on her eyelashes and tongue,
Windmilling cartwheels and somersault leaps.
The stars danced ribbons to keep rhythm and time.
It's a party, dear fool, a celestial joke to embrace.
A moment is here not meant to squander:
Warm arms, warm lips, pulse pounding away,
But in her eyes was my reflection in terror.
Aid Station: Eugene Curnow
11 hours ago