Ink Tea Stone Leaf

The Way She Walks

She hands her clothes down
and gathers new clothes, 
looking one way and then another every
year, growing softer,
glowing brighter, desiring
and desired, wrapped tight in a fair skirt of delight.

Before her face, the wild
streets are glittering, windows 
open to glimpse a brass sun across her breasts
that rises with her breath,
yet neither seems to set
upon the western sea, nor mount her apogee. 

The tide is full flush
in the wake of each stride,
and a stream of primordial life is carried on her call,
laughing ballads, ringing
bells with each bounce
of her rich hair along the course of her walking song.

The Way She Was

Oh, she said
reflecting on the present interruption
instantaneous,
finding things have changed yet
much remains the way she was,
it was in motion
there was little to be counteracted,
there was ebb and flow and
vertigo
distraction,
Oh, she said
the temperature has changed in some direction
thermostat,
she had to be adjusted
finding things have changed yet
she is now awoken to the weather,
there was stop and go and
vertigo
inaction,
Oh, she said
in quick succession to
the impetus,
the girl she used to be remembers
growth and motion
dances
much remains the way she was
adjusted,
she has since awoken from her dream
engaged
of quiet forms and motion,
there was slick and slow and
vertigo
decisive,
Oh, she said