Pitch, blackest-black,
You do not know it yet,
but someday you will watch me jumping off of rock cliffs
swallow-like, gold in the water.
Salt-spray will wash against our house,
foundation of bones webbed-in-earth,
together we make limestone, chalk;
we are the old bodies of sea-creatures and sponge-fossils,
transformed into light-shades.
My house has always been that one,
in the distance, white chalk-walls,
pebble strewn, blue-shadow-on-white cliffs.
I am woman in the black shawl, village creeper,
I am ribbon wound, kohl-eyed,
spirit-companion.
You are beloved one, laughing-eyes, smoke from lips.
elg 2010
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