The Kiss

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  “Ryabovitch pulled the bed-clothes over his head, curled himself up in bed, and tried to gather together the floating images in his mind and to combine them into one whole. But nothing came of it. He soon fell asleep, and his last thought was that someone had caressed him and made him happy—that something extraordinary, foolish, but joyful and delightful, had come into his life. The thought did not leave him even in his sleep. When he woke up the sensations of oil on his neck and the chill of peppermint about his lips had gone, but joy flooded his heart just as the day before.” The Kiss By Anton Chekhov (1860–1904)

Venus, Through The Trees

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The brilliant display catches my eye
as I sit and wait.
The cold air of the damp night seeps into my bones
as I sit and wait.

Through the trees, without a sound
Venus sails across the sky.

The formless void pierced by her brilliant light
traces nothing of her orbit; but,
through leaves she peeks
and behind the branches she abides, hides, 
bride of the sky.

Pageantry of night, stellar delight
as I sit and wait.
The cold air of the damp night seeps into my bones
as I sit and wait.

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