Red tipped fired wild wings of wondering,

Will, and when will you flaunt yourself into my caverns,

Fly your controlled flapping feathers to my

Ledge, make your way through deep waters,

Calling to you, enclosed with songs no woman could not hear,

Hundreds of years of years of lapping.

I wait for you,

Knowing you are very rare,

I have no arms to bear,

A presence only clear, for you, my dear.

If you can come, you will

And far further.

©  Susan Lynn Gesmer

Written first in 1983. Revised in 1988, for Kerry. “My brilliant beautiful lover dead at fifty: Could we have know what the future would bring?”