Thursday, July 3, 2008


Bonnie, your body
was a storm
that cleansed me.
The sky filled with you
suddenly, like a verdict;
my palms faced you
to receive my sentence.
Your small breasts
splashed against me.
Your flesh dripped
from my eyes and hair and hands.
I ran naked and helpless
through your puddles,
my feet wearing your wetness
like sandals.
A forest racing past my body,
glittered with your rain,
the rejoicing leaves greened clean.
From your looms of wind
you weaved
rain and leaves and hair
that clothed my body.
I followed your neck-laced path
through the tiara fields
collecting your poems
from the tips of grass.
In the flashing distance
where morning meets you,
where earth meets sky,
ablution was final.

published in Walking On the Greenhouse Roof

Delta Press, Montreal, 1969

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