Desolation Alley

Inspired by works I read in Abbey and Poetry today:

Wind Woman soars high above

Desolation Alley.

She knows,

she sees,

she weeps,

she wails.

Her works with

Wind Man,

when they were together,

are there,

but only in part.

Her heart yearns for

the sensitive use of the

gargoyle - handsomely chiselled in

stone, the fleur-de-lis,

the breath of stone,

the relief of hand worked marble,

cool and human veined.

A knife edged

partnership of

hard, glittering, practical

glass and metal,

predominates -

not ugly in all,

but his geometry

wasn't always like that.

Morph and shape,

whatever the

case may be to

subsist,

on modern ground.

Wind Man flew

briefly to her, busily

looking at his watch.

"You never used to be

like this. What happened?"

she said quickly,

so as not to waste his time.

He kissed her hurriedly

and blew off,

to a meeting of

the satellites and

virtual reality.

Alas, she breathed,

knowing a lost pause when

she saw it, and hovered

to mourn and think, over the cities

of the world.

Where was the frog?

There are too many spiders.

They're not happy either,

not enough wood for them.

Where is the bird? The

one that's meant to keep

the spiders in check?

Where is the river

that used to run through it?

"Wind Man is too busy,

to work with me,"

she moaned,

"so I shall have to

suffer my own questions, now,

until he regains his

senses."

copyright Monika Roleff 2005.