Every road rises with the sun,
She does not speak of her decline.

My march is up one mountain
My fingers trace her spine

And hers trace mine--
Sifting creation with me
This way and that
Preoccupied, or
In paradise.

De-
Naturing?
If only with air,
We're making ties.

And now, I really should go--

She's making eyes.

...

Evergreen, deciduous trees
Winding trails and crystal streams
All woven into her halo,

She's making eyes.

when god lets my body be

from each brave eye shall sprout a tree
fruit that dangles therefrom

the purpled world will dance upon
between my lips which did sing

a rose shall beget the spring
that maidens whom passion wastes

will lay between their little *******
my strong fingers beneath the snow

into strenuous birds shall go
my love walking in the grass

their wings will touch with her face
and all the while shall my heart be
with the bulge and nuzzle of the sea