Night Companions
We meet after the rain, on a shiny black road— a tiny Saw-whet owl, and one woman. Through the wet glass I measure your body and watch you bathe, naked and feathered in a pool of watery light. These blinding eyes are not mine; they do not see; they are not the keeper of my soul. Do they bring you warmth? Are they your chimera? A she-dragon whose hot breath has stunned you?	Secrecy presses me against this leather seat as I absorb your stillness, your resignation, your presence at the edge of my night. A simple gust of wind ripples your bath, reminding me that I am domestic, and you…You are wild. One swift, deciding wing carries you high to the nearest limb, a perch that gives you insight— my curiosity a mirror of your own. For a moment we are the same— tenants of dented asphalt roads, tenants living together in the subdivisions of life.
©September 3, 2001 Lynda Wilson Jones