Nanette Rayman




flimsy strap of her sundress falls

she loosens the top button

to let in eternity


troubadour song flocks

to fingers, given to forgotten language,

tattoo as ideogram


finite world unravels

as a thread, ginger-swathed

on the bias, unfurls as air, light


as angel cake causing

willow branches to sway, as if their weight

held the weight of the stilled river,

held her near the surface, constellations glimmering


she lies down with stones

to vanish in the river’s solid tongue,

rhombus in a pattern of fronds,


though she’s been waiting and preening

all her life, how little it has to do with

this breeze, how much she knows

transformation from this element

to another is a mystery.


Copyright © 2003 Nanette Rayman.  All Rights Reserved.

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