slow equatorial (a theology)
by Wm. Rike on February 24, 2008
In the cool of a twilit forest,
remembered shadows spread
(slow ink through cotton quiet)
across the abandoned mill-race
in which I bathed my abraded body.
I looked around and sighed, shivering
with worn out joy
(and wondered how it was
the body, alive, decays
and one drop of blood
blooms fully in the seat
of a white, cotton skirt)
when, from the dense undergrowth
to my left, her right,
god, in a garland of jungle flowers, emerged
and quietly walked by, coolly swaying
her goosefleshed bottom.
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