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Click hereBetween Whitetail and Kunkle,
sweet springs lie, a place of caring
for a long woman. Vast-stride paths,
sky's vaulted ceiling love the length of her.
He loves her,
the span of her,
in all manner of measurement.
She is nearly a fathom in his arms,
when he melts her.
He strikes her
with ellwands, until her arms
stretch farther, reaching
toward him. He cares
for a long woman.
copyright d. dixon
june 28, 2009
The quiet sadness, combined with the grateful acceptance of love is very moving, almost breathtaking.
In particular the reference to one simple human attribute, probably heard throughout once life more than once: “a long woman” -now being ‘taken care of’ - These kind of reductions can be scary.<P>
How? A worried burst refuses to simply take her upon her words, searching and refuses to find hidden meanings.
Wickedly cryptic. I loved it. There is something earthy and Goddess worshipping about this poem.