Faith
sits on the
edge
of my red couch,
while early mornings
shrouded in mist,
swirl around me,
as words
flow from my fingers
and images linger on
green hills,
rounded shoulders in defeat,
laughter echoing down turning stairs,
empty rooms with lights turned off,
my parent’s aging voices,
letters written,
sent and shredded
pulse beneath
the breath of waiting,
listening,
for the stillness
that takes flight
as I move
and turn
within the labyrinth
of my heart.
Lea Goode-Harris
May 19, 2006