THE SPIRIT MOVES

A spirit moves
like the giant walls in Moki Canyon
Down to the channels end
and back out again
a spirit moves
A spirit moves
like the awesome bodies of water in Lake Powell
Observant, sometimes quiet -
sometimes loud -
Laughter gently rippling
along the water ways
The Spirit moves in on us.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

WRITING ON A DAYTIME FLIGHT

Sometimes I refer to myself as 'man' --
But how is that possible?
I have a different body
To be used and disposed of -
Even though my blood is blue,
My heart seldom true and
My eyes vexted in manors large,
My ego is spent with different intent
And I spell my words all wrong.

Man is an animal.
I prefer sheep -- not to be led,
But to graze freely and to feed
As they wish, beneath the same moon.
Man is beyond me but eternally
My preference, since I, a woman,
Can want him unquestionally.

My hand touches his and my heart is beating,
For I am a part of this Gods' creation.
To bear his baby is my destiny,
But bearing his burden seems to be my decision
Or else to love him I must follow
Unknowing of the doom
His possessed body carries
With him, to the end.

ZCMI 12/67

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