Who Are You?

There are nights
when the wind speaks
chill and eerie
and whistles in the dark
your name.

There are nights
when the moon speaks
low beneath the bend
of the willow tree
and climbs the wall
of the old church
searching
for one
who still believes.

'Who are you?"
the earth asks
from her mouth
in the grey soil
that clings with ease
to the dying foot.

Do you know?

In the light of the sun
shadows disappear
and faith renews,
but it is the night
that comes
with mirrors to the soul.

Who are you?



Joanne Cucinello 2008