Cold Wet Sand
Cold wet sand
shadows in eclipse
the moon forgets
Night is dark and final
your steps in the sand—
disappearing dreams
Remembering France
picnics in the park
on a windy day
Red as glass
the opening
between your heart and mine
A battalion
of purple-helmeted iris
marching through the wind
Floating through the stars
touching wind, holding moonlight
autumn in her hair
Author’s Bio
Jane Stuart lives near her family home in W-Hollow in the middle of a nature preserve—years of trees, birds, the deer, fern, and sometimes a fox on the ridge at night. And in the valley, the magical world of gnomes. She is working on haiku and tanka and just finished secret love poems in red soul rising, published by Edizioni Universum in English and Italian (2022). She is a frequent contributor to poetry magazines.
