zoe!
is it
the eyes
having the phrases
of the fill pasturing the moon
the way the grass sees her
is it
the hunger
of an appetite living
low
feeding upon the bread flesh of its own
well bred
is it the thirst wetting the roots
hungry for its own tuberous thighs
thighs
that will give to all these things
an experience of love's embrace
as what they are
O how made from they are
made from that turning
of the one in the other as
the one which is neither and both
and becoming
a plant-man
a tree
a cosmos
like me and not me
|
