Half forgetting who she really is,
coated with envy's slime, the woman
in that murky midst of life
steps into this burbling stream,
immersed now in holy fluid
underneath quivering birch leaves
and a sky that sings forever
and not yet,
she's somehow,
head tipped back laughing madly with the heavens,
thankful for her lack
of thankfulness.
No comments:
Post a Comment