She sleeps in a room that is like a forest with a
stream nearby. The windows, on two
sides, capture the arc of the sun and clothing hangs like Spanish moss within
flung-open closets and from half-open drawers.
The windows allow the outside in.
Trees standing beside her in upright shadows. The scent of sugared plants and soft
earth.
Shoes are gathered alongside the unmade bed and a
mirror—one long and wide—captures her movements anywhere in the room. The bedding is like water in a stream, ever
shifting, pooling sometimes at the foot, at other times cascading to the
floor. That bed is for love-making and then sleep.
--Mitchell
Hegman
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ReplyDeleteDid you walk through the forest and chance upon your own face reflected on the stream?
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