(Today we welcome Diane Webster, a poet you will seeing more of on this site in the future, as in this Thursday!-LA )

On the lake’s shore

the bare tree looks like

a naked woman — her hair

tangles around her head

as wind shifts east to north,

back again in circling

rage of imprecise journey.

Her arms flail

dance moves forgotten

after execution, after elbows

jab the wind for space.

Diane Webster