I exposed my ******* to the clovers
and the clover reveled in the exposure to porcelain forests
from days of bronze and days of clay
the brothers and the fathers
for the mother
at her feet, kneeling
travel wreaths of holly
porcelain children in their stead
the sun bleached wheel of life is turning
and with the poor man's banners
needles in our fingers lead
blood under our nails
we weave further down our destined columns in the field
in the fields
under an overlaid full moon
lulled together into our lovers bed
lulled together into our mother's and father's homestead
I am moved
I am touched by the ridged shell of the crab
as it holds on
clutches to what the earth has
what it knows
as was done to me,
I will hold this child's hand
the mothers sing and they pant
up the hill we carry with fervent hands
new trees for the Porcelain Forrest
from days of bronze and days of clay
this is where our sun bleached vertical bones will be lain