Wheat Ears, Selected Poems


Your gown touches the ground

outline of your body

visible delicious and ethereal

breeze voraciously besieges your legs

dictating their every move

and I want to build a church

to match your angelic shape

an altar to erect 

atop the inviting space

designed by your thighs

point of reverence

for the upcoming generations

an icon to place high up

where the anger subsides

and your mound stands

unerring judge of both

the dead and the alive



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