You wait for something
to descend like an eagle.
Your arms are cold branches
shorn of their greenness,
naked in their purity,
saying,
cover me with life!
I am love!
I want to live!
I am a ruined solitude!
She stands alone,
in a museum,
unmindful of passers-by.
Why must she be in this place?
She should weep in the rain.
Feel the wind on her form.
Be kissed by strangers
hungering for a kiss.
Love so gentle,
so terrible,
locked forever in stone.