Edvard Munch
she’s been standing there at the window
for a hundred years
and more
the moon streaming down,
all of her steeped in that
fullness of light,
her bare feet sinking
in the moon rays that flood the floor
there she is
as once and always
and again
pacing the vertical stream of the moment
her gown
alight
and the silent
call -
I’m wading towards you