A Couple of Water Drops

There are times a woman stands at the edge of a meadow

Expansive, in a deep mood,

The trees wet above her, ripe with crisp raindrops

She thinks their scent

Like that of a man freshly bathed,

Looking up toward the cliff where a hawk glides by.

She imagines a couple of water drops

Running down his chest

Absorbed by her hair pressed against him

She is so fertile, merely the water on his skin

Impregnates her with deep joy

As she conceives of his pleasure…

                              …..   

Sometimes a man stands high atop a cliff

Encompassing a thought

Overlooking the trees edging a meadow, the sky freshly drained

He thinks the scent of the lea below

Like that of a woman freshly bathed

Looking down towards a hawk circling there near the trees

He imagines a couple of water drops

Running down her chest,

Trickling through his fingertips

He is so virile, merely the water on her skin

Sires in him deep joy

As he envisions her pleasure...

He has fallen in love with the idea of a woman

She has fallen in love with the sense of a man

Who are beyond the field

Surrounded by their unseen presences

In the separate places in which they stand

Both know emptiness

That only their complement could possibly fill

An emptiness that they would embrace

Defiantly together in something like a prayer

                        .............

Dropping down past the cliff past the trees,

The hawk alights into a freshly running meadow stream,

Water drops trickling from its beak and wings

Taking its fill, it gathers for flight.

Telepathic with the world all around,

To the hawk a deep knowing soars

To cross the horizon alone

And a strong, lone cry calls out,

An echo answering from the cliffs and trees...

A couple of water drops falling from its wings.

And where they fall, the world is nourished

Even if not a seed is there