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to the bed. She was asleep. He looked down upon her and watched
her sleep peacefully. What kind of a woman had he picked up?
Building houses to please people. She must be crazy. What an enigma,
he thought. Is she as pure and naively innocent as she appears?

He pulled down the window shade and lay down on the bed be-
side the strange woman and the doll she hugged to her bosom.

In the afternoon the poet slid off the bed and tip-toed into the
bathroom to wash. Upon the bed the woman lay quietly squeezing
the doll to her breast. She stirred and rolled against the hard doll's

head.
"Mister Poet, Mister Poet," she screamed hysterically. "Where

are you? Come back! Come back!"
The young man rushed to her side and pulled her limp body

against his shoulder. She sobbed and trembled like a frightened child.
"There's no reason to cry. I'm here. I'm here."
"I know. But I thought you left. Please don't leave. I need you."
"I won't, I won't," he said smiling. "I'll be here forever." Then

very quietly he whispered, "We have another house to build. And

Annie can live in both houses."
He led her to the corner where the block house stood. Kneeling,

he pulled in the extra blocks. "Let's build your house now," he said

softly. "At least for today."

silhouette

by nancy ann mengel

Winter snows have come.
White curtains surround the trees-

Star-shaped flakes of ice.

Silhouetted black
Against the cold winter sky,

In sleep, a tree stands.

Lone leaf on the tree
Clings to the branch of its youth

Until strong winds blow.

Beneath frozen bark,
Life in the heart of the tree
Is waiting lor spl'ing.

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