Moonbathing by A. Jill Gaebel
Ah, there you are.
I have missed you.
Now I can sit at the open window
Allowing your silver-white glow
To wash over me and lend me
A sense of purity.
I wonder at the strange sensations
You bring to me,
Creating mystical, primitive,
Often sensual stirrings
In my core.
Others may close their shutters
For fear you will disturb their sleep
Or close their mind’s eye
For fear you will disturb their souls.
Like a pagan worshipper,
I will always glory
In your coming.
The Interlude by A. Jill Gaebel
Small, iridescent wings
beat their incessant rhythm
as they carry their wee burden
past the variegated colors
of the forest carpet.
The wings must rest
and lightly place their little fly
on an ancient and decaying stump.
The wary fly spies before her
the awesome figure
of the quietly waiting
Spider.
Their multitude of eyes
focus upon each other.
One contemplates with desire,
the other with uncertainty
and a sense of fascinating danger.
Her instincts say to flee.
Poised for flight,
shiny wings at the ready,
she remains, mesmerized
and intrigued
by the infinite facets of the eyes upon her.
It seems she sees herself reflected there,
in the depths of the spidery gaze.
She becomes confused
As the luster turns dull
Then back again to glisten
And compel.
The terrible figure
raises its great forelegs
as if to embrace her.
In sudden terror
she bids the delicate wings
to flight.
A poor, unfortunate creature
she is on this day.
In her distraction,
while focused upon the one that holds her vision
her flight meets with sudden resistance.
There she struggles
in the beauty the beast has created
to ensnare the foolish
such as she…
Silly little fly.
She struggles against the beautiful prison
As the mesmerizing eyes
grow near
with the glow of victory.
She tires and gives over to her capture
knowing that she is lost,
she and her lacy wings.
Ah, but the spider
mysteriously pulls away
and looks to the distance.
She gives another
incredible assault.
Tiny wings now beat with desperate rhythm!
At last! She is free!
The little fly again stops on the aged stump.
She turns back
to see the contemplative, needy eyes.
As she sails away over
the colorful forest floor
both hunter and prey
know that by the loss of her
he still will hunger.
