ALLIES ARRIVE

By Leslie Jones

Beneath the veils of night Allies arrive.

In the blue-black dark violet mists drift,

feathered wing-tips brush skin,

nerves ripple like gentle breezes

whispering secrets to the surface

of a moonlit pond.

Darkness Herself is Ally.

Sight, sound, scent are muffled

by the velvet folds of Her thick, heavy skirts.

Easy enough to hide here awhile.

Easy enough to heal here

encloaked by the balm of a quiet, still night.

Now, to rise to the dawning sun

gazing upon chocolate brown torsos of winter clad elms

silhouetted by pink clouds turning to peach,

turning to lavender, turning to pearly white.

Morning blue sky peeking out from behind.