Out goes the cry, urging frantic need to run to him.
He stands staring, stiff and breathless, eyes staring.
The air is electric and a primaeval smell is all pervasive gripping me pulling me at my soul.
Panic grips hold, tearing at my heart.
Will this be the one that takes him from me?
I hold on for grim death, waiting, praying, for the shaking to stop,
Willing life to once more inhabit this deathly form.
At last hallelujah the storm it has broken.
Weak with waxen skin he breathes a life giving vital breath.
As if waking from a trance, I feel, see, here once more my surroundings.
His beauty once more restored after the violent ugly invasion that overwhelmed him.


Wendi 07/09/2000