Through Her Window I Watch

Through Her Window
(c) William Edward Ilse 1997, 1998

Through her window
I can watch
the aging queen
of beauty
slowly undressing
as she
drops
her
golden
gown
and slips
undergarments
of crimson
from her weathered limbs.

Stepping out
from amidst
her fallen glory
she tip-toes
naked
down my sidewalk
'round the corner
past the toolshed
through the arbor
her white skin
blue
in the moonlight.

She knows I want to follow her
to brave the crossing part
I'd reach, but never touch her hand
or warm her autumn heart.

She knows my soul is longing
for the day that I will go.
But still I'll not indulge myself
upon the falling doe.

I can hear her
as she whispers
as she beckons
through the wind
as she reasons
with me pleading
as she slowly
lies
down
without me
in the stark
crystalline
bedchamber
of winter.

And she knows I want to follow her
to brave the crossing part
I'd reach, but never touch her hand
or warm her autumn heart.

She knows my soul is longing
for the day that I will go.
But still I'll not indulge myself
upon the falling doe.

With a mournful,
resolute sigh,
I withdraw
my hand
from the curtain.