David J. Hurfurt


Serenity, tranquil on arches of gold;

A sleeping silk-caressed moon,

Composed in a sweltering sky

Of burgundy and fire.

A silhouette stands, sure and aloof,

With hope emanating bright.

Is it a sacrifice to the shifting sands,

Or the triumph of a merciful god?

This figure, expectant, impatient with fate,

Is gifted an elegant shadow

Made long by a generous sun,

Which sleeps for its sister to wake.

To wake to a form diminished by dark,

To a secret hushed still by the night,

Kept secure in a masculine tower,

Behind a door that few find, and less enter.