Southerly Susurrus

Let your gentle fingers hold my ribs,

Pry open those hands that grip my lungs,

Untangle the knots in my cable-knit brain;

Bejewel my hair with gleaming salt,

Tune the gossamer chords of my voice box,

And tease sweet notes from those disused strings;

Sweep away echo-whispers from my ears,

and let my thoughts glide unweighted on your wings,

free, on the solar-sinews of the sky.