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(the arrow)


To be held within the arms, lingering,

As goddesses wrestled with the bowstring,

Cascading a brocade of hopeful darts,

Perilously closed to shielded hearts.


Sinew string attached to the arrow

Of grainy, wooden, hardness, sanded narrow.

To pull this heart string, and make it quiver,

A reflective arrow to deliver.


Rolling from side to side, and back once more,

Escaping the mark, opening the door.

The archer, slowly, took a faultless aim:

A move, a sound, a thoughtful arrow came.


                                                                                   ~~~ by Michael Chaussee



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