The Nudes Of Autumn

Some have spreading, sensuous limbs

that flow like rivers to the sky

or twist, like the roots of new growth

in long, languid shapes that recline

on blue satin of evening

and its clouds like dark pillows;

and some seem to gaze idly

in the mirror of the moon

while others, dark eyes midst the snow,

stare back at you

but do not be deceived by their stillness and their languor

for a bow is drawn in the curving of their limbs;

without moving, they are like wild dancers

and, within them, is a dance waiting to begin;

within them is a latent power

thus, some, like patient spiders,

have branches that weave a web

and others seem more like naked warriors

disturbed from their beds in the night

or have hair like a crackling thunderstorm

or a waterfall

or black, cat like limbs waiting to pounce

and, under those seductively arching brows,

their dark eyes are filled with portent.