from Salty, Savory, Bitter, Sweet

“My body, plowed by your body, will turn into a field
where one is sown and a hundred reaped.” ~ Octavio Paz


From the high windows, at noon;
or in the eaves, once I heard
the moan of a dove, the creak
of a bedspring, a cry, the sound
a hundred feathers might make
beating against another’s breast.


Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.