And the universe is a woman
Who must be approached
Carefully, tenderly, patiently:
Not bought like a whore but loved
Like the bride idealized in
Our heads, as young men.
(This hill gives back
My miles-per-gallon--
Something I track
Like a game; like baseball
--On the way back down,
Like a cloud giving back
A droplet to the glass.)
And this, the patient Grace of hills
Being fair, can take a millennium.
She does not confine her rule
Being fair, can take a millennium.
She does not confine her rule
To our meager Human lives. We die
Like raindrops in a passing storm,
And the one who bore us all
Lives on: shall still justly rule
At the end of Human things, when
Words themselves expire.
Words themselves expire.
September 2015
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