Issue 140, Volume 14
February 2010

The Escape

by A.K. Sykora

Come away, my love,
While the night itself is sleeping,
Curled around the mountain
In a cloud without a seam;

Come, while all eyes are hidden
And the moon has wandered far,
Leaving not a glance behind,
Not a winking star.

Birds are resting in the trees,
Flowers in the meadow’s bed;
What are the use of these
And Love no place to lay his head?

The lake lies open like a grave,
So silent, still and deep.
I wade into its ebony chill--
Here my love and I will sleep.

A.K. Sykora has published several stories and poems in print media and on the internet, and despite many reverses hopes to find an agent for her novel about the witch holocaust...