We were ready for anything
that the wide skies flung at us.
Our lips held the promise of carols
and requiems in equal measure.
We did not stagger in the rains
that fed the yawning gullies,
but stooped to taste the water.
Love, yes, love gripped our ankles
like a sprung trap, but we were ready
for blood. And there was an abundance
that lulled us, the sound of bees working
at their hives, a constant purl of water
over stone. We took the harvest
like kindly sovereigns, unafraid
to bend our knees. Our place
was fixed upon a wheel
so vast the turning
made us dream.
The ditch was ready
for anything, dry, deep,
perfectly set to swallow
whatever slipped into its maw.

Dale--
This is so beautiful.  I love the idea of love gripping the ankles as a trap.  This captures the overwhelming rush that is new love, and the extreme willingness to endure anything and everything for it.

Magnificent! - Thanks, Moskowitz

Dale -- what can I say?  must pick this.

lynn

Buddah, Lynn~ Thank you for your words of appreciation.
take care~dale