A Woman is but the Land beside the River
A woman is but the land beside the river
Flowing into the original sins of the fluids.Her throat, the curve over the valley,
a steaming volcano from the fresh wraths of a love, lost.
The summers of her man
As a distant canvas.
No lizards cross the wall
Nor do snakes, on the roadOnly frozen pole stars,
Waiting for the womb,
The red earth
beneath the grave of fireflies.