The Henge

Blue stones were pushed to the henge on rollers

floated down rivers on rafts

then Tess came there

he saw her riding among solitary stones

looking for sanctuary      Just a brief glimpse

in his mind's eye    Tess    stress      tristesse

Naked lengths lain in a warm ward

where swing doors trolley cold pails

"Her past, her past"   murmurs by the elevator

"Explains her painting’s strangeness"

those swing doors bringing brass bands

profile parades      Does he/she remind you of...

grey shades inlaid in the brain

until spring painted brighter colors

            She sought advice from a hermit  

            clambered down to his beach through the fog

            but when she arrived he had gone

            just a note pinned to his door

           your past has the shape

           of a long bodied dragon, a Chinese dragon

           with legs, many legs, ducking and weaving

           like a low cloud chased by wind

           go stand by an eucalyptus tree

           breathe deeply and be free

A fog had crept up from the sea

voices off were magnified

while mist filled hollows with its balm

a sparrow chipped its cares out

He sat

fogbound

thinking of Tess

mute with music contained

© Dick Russell 2014
revised version of a March 9th 2013 post