The Nude

THE NUDE In the dying dim of dusk when shadows soft as sighs drape over the warm wood fences the soft hairs on her flesh arrest the final efforts of the sun the tangled gold controlled by the movements of her body The nighthawk shrieks sharp through the black cave sky the meadow and the hillside abide their silence her grace her feet knit the night flowers together in an intricate brotherhood Delicate are her courtly caresses And in the pin-pierced night when the cool air threads catly through the quilted quiet trees and splashes gooseflesh upon her she reaches for skirt and blouse and is gone from the soft solitude the woodland nude