Under an idle swag
of draped mosquito net
between the stage where we sleep
and an empty amphora,
in this earthen house a breeze
has caught your thinning hair,
raised it, your aura,
where you lean in your chair

and write. I do not

sweep fine dust
from our white floor for you,
but do it to know
what sifts through our screens
while night shivers our skin
where we touch, and stars
turn slow gears
out over the sea.

*
Lachania,
Rhodes, Greece

MaryAnn Franta Moenck lives and works just east of St. Paul, Minnesota. Her poems have appeared in Free Verse, Snowy Egret, Cimarron Review, and online in Three Candles and The Pedestal. Her manuscript received Honorable Mention for the 2008-2009 Loft Mentor Awards. MaryAnn is grandmother to twin teenage hockey-playing boys. She hopes to someday strike the proper balance between knitting and belly dancing.