| MISTS OF OCTOBER Green fingers rose to an arched throat aghast skin white silk against the black sheen of hair spread about like a cloak of warmth yet she was so damn cold green fingers passed oe'r a brow furrowed with longing a thin keen wail lifting the misty morning air a sparrow hawk disturbed flew in one lazy circle after another above the naked earth until spying his breakfast he dove for the kill green fingers plucked a dainty scarf from beneath a burning bush painted red flames by the rising sun pressed the tattered remains to lips of blue; clutched at the heavy air with thin fingers of green beseeching God above deliverence and blessed eternal rest by Sheryl McCurdy |
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