Green locks, cloven hoof, desire,
The fields open wide, expansive,
The dancing blades are anchored in the earth,
Rooted, restrained, reaching up to cumulus, cirrus.
A hill covered by millions, green tree
On red hill. Two watching for food,
Gulping death, reminding me of desire,
And green locks, and fields opened wide.
The blades are withered, like breasts;
Droplets of sweat moisten dry milk ducts.
She was once beautiful, green, vibrant,
But now is rooted, restrained, reaching up to cumulus, cirrus.
They gather near the portal, the temporal,
Desiring to get out; I peer from the back,
Lain out on work tables, feet aside burgundy and jeans,
And I lean back, wonder, and observe departure.