by Arthur Smid

Tractors smile across the fields
An arc of Earth sown into birth
Tulips, children, and chimney smoke
Upon the lances of a sudden joke.

Turn on the mystery. Look in your eyes.
The very shape of every door
Between her legs and to the core.
Rub again and vibrate more.

Wide hips parting at the valley floor.
River banks and rubber ducks.
Sitting up in the bath, the water rocks
In gentle waves and moves her silent hair.


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