Cross Fire

A poem by Sandy Lulay


Who is she
This woman child
Who comes in visions
Drifting Slowly,
As slips the smoke
From the candle's lip.
Her spirit pours
Into my life like
Warm, honeyed milk:
Sweet and easy
To taste, to sip.

She runs from
The arms of war
Like a young fawn
Spotted to be invisible.
Yet, I see
Her running to me.
Her shadow becomes
My shadow
In the world, ever changing
With my every

A plane
Circles a warning.
Cross fire.
I feel her soul
Seeping into thought,
Spilling soft around,
Bending till it breaks
Like thunder sounds

And I'm caught between
Her coming and my leaving;
I am undone.
She runs, and she runs.
Still, I hold her spirit
In my sleep,
Knowing my dreams
Can never be.

I remain the hunter
Of lost moonbeams,
sipping at the edge of rain.
Invincible, you think?
Look at me again.
Mark the rain
Where it falls sharp
Against my skin.
I cannot escape
The path of its pain.

Is the heart
That falls in love
With the enemy.


       Sandy Lulay, originally from Woodstock, New York, is a resident of Stuart, Florida. Lulay is an "Original Woodstock Girl" who has been writing poetry since age ten. Many of her poems have been published both in Woodstock and Stuart's Sleeping Bear Review. Sandy is a Swans' kind of girl, our in-house poet.

         Please, DO NOT steal, scavenge or repost this work without the expressed written authorization of Swans, which will seek permission from the author. This material is copyrighted, © Sandy Lulay 2001. All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Sandy Lulay on Swans

Poems and Essays published in 2002 | 2001


Published February 11, 2002
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