the sun with her windswept flaxen tresses
rose slowly above a lake of reflections,
hanging over that lake until the moon nudged her slightly.
She responded by tossing her head haughtily
and looked vainly at her beauteous image
that the quiet shivering lake provided,
ignoring the moon’s rude gesture.
the sun looked at her lucent locks
for one last time before she
changed from aureate to crimson.
her sanguine hair dripped drops of blood onto the landscape
but the lake, accustomed to this nightly occurrence
only reflected hues of gold and green.
21 June 1998