The sky sheds darkness
peeling away
thin gray layers
of shadow.
Cool mist stirs
upon the lake,
disturbed
by phantom feet
A soft breath,
a trilling wind, 
flutters and coils
hangs like a promise
Light is bleeding
into the world
from a sun unseen.
I watch a stranger,
balancing  at a
convergence
of opposing elements--
She plays a hollowed,
silver branch upon a cairn
of stones--piled
in casual disarray
beneath her sandled feet.
The wind-song
is her child
born of her heart,
her gift, her life,
her passion;
many things
I refuse to know,
to name and cage.
I cannot defile
the moment
with words,
questions--
or compliments.
Something fragile
and untamed
will die
if I speak--
taking a better world
with it.