screeching under august welcome,
night's mystery
grudgingly gives way to
the common wonder
of daybreak's song
of lights.

and in between dawn's shy muted shadow,
I wait
again. jilted,
again. But
I am
calm and fervent,
in anticipation of our rendezvous.

my fickle muse.

we may waltz
or wrestle,
wrangling like old fools.
we may slip soft into the other,
whispering affection
and planning doom.