Sunday, October 3, 2010

Washer at the Ford

This veil so thin
As I walk slow
This ghost road circle.

I pass the cross-roads fair
Hidden this day ‘neath fall’s long shadow
‘Nare look back, o’er shoulder gast
Lost glance and figure from corner eye
Winter a whisper from bitter blue lips
A song, sung long in tooth,
The sagging breast
A wailing Mother’s lament
Of loss.

IF I nurse at your withered breast
Oh Washer Woman,
Would you give unto me Mother’s Milk
Warm and white…my future’s unfoldment cast
Or would you stain my mouth-thin lips scarlet
With the remnants from stone clashed stone
at the water’s edge

Death rags cleaned to dress the dead.
Turn to me a Maiden fair-
Reckless Love ‘top brown grass brittle.
To awake-blanketed beneath heavy dew
thin fog dancing-dries away-the sun’s hot kiss
Immortal dreams-mist.

Come, dark Mother mine
Embrace me with thine icy touch
Dance with me the ancient dance
Of bone to bone-too sweet a kiss
Revealed in kind…

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