gods with witching sticks

She held a newborn & still no fever swelled her belly; she obtained the exhaustive allegiance of a man, first from his body, then deeper from an umbra, with a grit; she waited for love to conclude womanhood –

so she overfed on glass lakes and silence like a glut, until she learned to grow her own food & not rely on the moonlight to fill her, by trees on the mountain numbering in the thousands to stop objective thought, or by children and men building nests within her –

inside were the gods with witching sticks, she said, after years of straying towards lyric of lush depths & thirsty heights; she enunciates her swollen heart with a concentrate rarified by hearing ears so that all the girls to follow might know yet another way of burning.

> photo courtesy of thewmking.wordpress.com