For Diane

Sometimes in the heat of the stygian night
she lies and tosses and, thinks
would it be better to be anywhere else
what can she do ,
what can she say
Make it all go away
      Does it work?
sometimes the call of the bird ,
flying high on a wire,
reaches down
takes a soul and flies with it
      Watch the little people scurry and go      
  
Be not one of them, take the time
and stay a while
      see the love that oozes from the petal form
that rapt look , the sibilant sound      
is that a growl , or merely a resonance
      Yet she will prevail      and knows it