Chin
jutted level with the horizon line,
arms
clasped around thin elbows which palms
cradle
against the abdomen, the body becomes
a
sensual veil, loosens its threads, the carpet of moss
appreciates
the spaces across smooth rocks such as
She-
And
I hear her voluptuous sigh
giving
weight to attraction,
attention
and focus upon
the
tiniest moon
as
though the stars were an entourage
of
criticism-
She
begins again, stainless in the mud,
I
inquire as to what is bothering her,
what
matters more than
rocks
and trees-
She
beheld a single sheet of white paper
which
explained her glow,
scratch
that she noted and tore
it
into thin strips
but
would not say another word edgewise.
I
knew I would piece it all back together
when
she smiled, opened her shoulders,
spread
her wings and sang
like
a mocking-bird.
There
were too many notes, index cards
and pages coming
back,
returned to sender and un-
deliverable-
Yet
we agreed
on something so stark
standing on different patches
of land and future, undoubtedly
paper
was better than plastic.
Painting by Poul Friis Nybo (1869-1929), 'Reading Woman' c. 1929 in Public Domain.
