Breath Of Gold

I drive into the deeper darkness of this night.

I am going to meet my friend at a country restaurant.

I am wishing he had picked me up.

I want more than ever to feel cared for, protected.

My sister is gone.

I gradually console myself with car music;

and start feeling glad that I have a place to go to,

someone to meet this night.

Arriving  before my friend, I stand around

calmly akimbo, talking with strangers,

in a dark room with folds of firelight at the far end.

I feel as if I am acting all right,

though being at such a loss in the dark.

Not knowing where I stand with anyone,

I don’t even think of sitting down,

until I am asked to, and even then

am so disoriented I refuse to take a seat

as if I must remain in suspense.

When I see him in the light filled entry,

he is taking off his black overcoat,

but as he turns towards us he is glowing.

An amber gold satin muffler is gleaming

all the way down the front of his dark velour jacket.

His patent leather shoes beam underfoot.

While greeting others with his reverberating smile,

he turns his hand up quietly to me.

Close up, a gold satin vest gleams out

from under his gold muffler.

Closer still, my eyes are drawn

over gleaming waves of satin

through embroidery moongates into

spring traceries of red and green petals and leaves.

He is a vision.

The sight of him begins to make me smile inside

as we mingle distantly in the darkness.

This small inside smile is like a gold comet

coming through a heavy storm.

Almost without my heaviness noticing,

he has spanned a deep darkness.

Later, as we sit having dinner, his muffler

still glows in golden folds over his dark velour lapels

as he tells me he has a feather in his pocket,

a feather he will tickle my nose with

if I say anything which is not true to what I do.

“I brought this feather, instead of a blunt instrument,”

he says impishly, “in honor of your delicate condition.”

He does not pull the feather out of his pocket that night.

He has not pulled this feather on me yet.

But, ever since then, I can see this feather nestled

luminously in his dark velour breast pocket.

When I see this brilliant feather there,

I feel carried near his warm stout heart,

under his beaming smile.

I can feel his heart beating strongly now.

“Yes,” my inner voice says in a whisper of awe.

When I give this picture to my old friends over the phone,

they instantly know the secret of the gift I am giving.

I hear each of my two old lovers carried away

in the favorable awesome winds of this good spirit.

I hear this in a distinct savoring whisper

coming through on their breath.

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                      © Janet K Bloom 2010. All Rights Reserved.