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

and the silent
call -
I’m wading towards you