wind

i watched the swing

as the strong arms worked the earth,

at the blade going through the tall grass,

trimming branches and cutting weeds

i wish to tell the her about her gift,

the sensation and arches breaking me apart,

things i felt when ever i pictured her toil,

and the passion of feeling her eyes on mine under the scotching sun

i wish to talk about the local maiden fit to the bone,

defined with chest beat full of milk,

the narrative intend to sketch the outline

as the perfomance ply the part of hope whose exeption alway climax such a day