you would know her

she waits in the field
her hand near her face

all else is wind, is a dress --
pale colours that move in the dusk
like grasses, like cobwebs,
like dust --

far above her,

a gesture
carves its way
through the darkening sky;

she looks up; her hand
falls to her side -- for
she knows him at once:
the curve of his plane, like
a sweep of his hand --

he banks over the field and around
and he lands

like a thought

on the ground

© 1984, Carin Perron