She sleeps deeply, beautiful as smooth carved marble,
her moonlit face shows no wrinkles, no scars
that you might see in the morning light, for work
wearies and wears us down as life runs by,
and her hardened hands are rendered tender in the dark,
rough and calloused as they may be in light of work,
at night, at night she dreams of love and childhood,
carefree and joyful, and her hands flutter free as birds,
her arms transform, finely feathered wings, graceful, sleek,
beating back against the headwind of time,
soar her return to pastels and unclouded days,
unspoken memories, sweet silent dreaming
of the soul, her body at rest, savoring the kind ineloquence
of silent healing all through the forgotten day of night.
Lanning Lee 