A Lutenist's Refrain
The blackberry tree, hanging some of its branches over her,
arbors, shelters and comforts her. The blackberry honeycombs,
like little dark blueblack hives of hexagonal shapes, fall around
the ground near her feet and on her lap, lapsing down like
tears. She sits on a chair underneath the tree.
It is not goodbye, this leave of absence he has taken ... it is only
a reprieve, an intermittent restraint of silence. The other, her
brother, has darkish brown eyes, tender and compassionate,
and is of a symbiotic nature akin to hers: loving, lonely, longing
to be loved; humane, musical, altruistic and intuitive. He seems, in
his talks and communications with her, to be teaching, tutoring and
guiding her, telling her to be patient and wait for her softly-sparkling
blue-eyed love - as he, her brother, gently plys and plays his lute
in chords of harmony.
Copyright © Rosanne Sbrigata | Year Posted 2011
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