Moorish Castle Pantoum

MOORISH CASTLE PANTOUM
In a deserted Moorish castle that crowns a French hill
in a windswept place overlooking the sea,
she explored, saw, through doors and windows with grilles,
into a cool, shaded room, noticed its privacy.

In a windswept place overlooking the sea,
she longed to touch him, gathered yellow broom
into a cool, shaded room, noticed its privacy
while she spread the broom to form a couch in the gloom.

She longed to touch him, gathered yellow broom.
She dipped water from a rain cask. It was cool
while she spread the broom to form a couch in the gloom,
washed and rinsed herself in a rainwater pool.

She dipped water from a rain cask. It was cool.
She washed her black ringlets for his touch. She moaned,
washed and rinsed herself in a rainwater pool,
trembled, thinking of his warmth, his hand in her own.

She washed her black ringlets for his touch. She moaned.
She lay daydreaming on blooms, her thoughts a rhapsody,
trembled, thinking of his warmth, his hand in her own,
as she waited in shadows cast by filigree.

She lay daydreaming on blooms, her thoughts a rhapsody.
She heard the wind, or him, outside the open door.
As she waited in shadows cast by filigree
the man with a twinkle came in through the door.

She heard the wind, or him, outside the open door.

Elizabeth Southwood
(MOORISH CASTLE PANTOUM, page 2, continue stanza)
She explored, saw, through doors and windows with grilles,
the man with a twinkle came in through the door,
in a deserted Moorish castle that crowns a French hill.