Lowly

I am in love
with a man
who is gone now.
Hunting
for vison.
His bones
know the
scent of it
intuition
and praise.
What he lacks,
he seeks.
And I watch him
from my hill,
as he treads
the countryside
and split the great
and fertile valleys
like the hips of a woman
he has loved
for centuries
in many forms:
an eagle
a warrior
a stone
I love him
over there
far from me

by Pam Morris

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