The sassafras groves
and the weeds covered hills
ring in the wind like chimes.
The breeze blows
the smell of wet sand
and blue-green pond moss
through your open window,
twisting the rough-silk curtain—
an insufficient barrier.

The lapping waters of the lake
murmur a rhythmic lullaby.
A reed breathes like a flute
and a Great Blue Heron flies low
over the meadow—its wings
flap languidly, its long feet
skim the glassy surface.

Asleep, you dream of autumn
and hillsides aflame, but leaves turn
in your sleep, wake you
to re-inhabit your sadness, your loneliness.

Grieving, you enter the lake’s water
as you would have entered a mirror
—first a soundless reflection.


Ana Doina, a Romanian-born American writer living in NJ, had to leave Romania due to political and social pressures during the Ceausescu regime. For more than twenty-five years she has been involved in community-based literary organizations, creating and coordinating workshops and reading groups in public libraries and schools. Her poems appear in many literary magazines, anthologies, and textbooks.

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