Great stone stairs
long and wide
winding down
far and sweeping
the earth grows wild
and ragged
on the edge
of heavy darkness
She leads
he follows
her fruit
the small of her back
the fullness of her hips
a brown skirt
thick in soft
hard in smooth
Her midnite coat
comes to there
no further
purposed
reasoned
perfected
Her steps deliberate
click clack
upon the stone
grace in rhythm
nothing hurried
a language all it's own
He steps silent
in tribute
A gardener near the wall
shifting eyes
busy in nothingness
not acknowledged
merely to decorate
Her steps slow slightly
the syllables changing
the gardener twitches
She stops
he stops
time stops
An arm of silk lace
glides
from beneath the shawl
nails touch the palm
a finger points down
the gardener looks away
"Here"
The vapor follows the word
thick, sweet, hers
and drifts to his face
A step forward
and down
shadowed in her power
secure in her strength
And he paints
one step
Green
Pitted and weather worn
scarred and honoured
painter and canvas
When finished
a slow glance upward
time measures the depth of her return
one sword upon another
Blades cannot cross
as one
but surrender is willing
He rises
her silent echo
as before
down the stone
click clack
The gardener stood
as the painter bowed
is he now servant to the gardener
Had she pointed there
the gardener would have
trembled in dispatch
knowing his place as well
What has she gained?
what she already had
And his gain?
what she already had
An agreement
perfect in settlement
consummated in device
Why green?
She knows
Might she not have stopped
certainly
Might he have refused?
never
Does the gardener know?
he thinks
Will he tell?
the power is in the keeping
the whoring in the telling
All whores have a price
and knowledge an author
Click clack
click clack
Is it bridge?
Yes
To where?
Click clack
Click clack
~Rick
long and wide
winding down
far and sweeping
the earth grows wild
and ragged
on the edge
of heavy darkness
She leads
he follows
her fruit
the small of her back
the fullness of her hips
a brown skirt
thick in soft
hard in smooth
Her midnite coat
comes to there
no further
purposed
reasoned
perfected
Her steps deliberate
click clack
upon the stone
grace in rhythm
nothing hurried
a language all it's own
He steps silent
in tribute
A gardener near the wall
shifting eyes
busy in nothingness
not acknowledged
merely to decorate
Her steps slow slightly
the syllables changing
the gardener twitches
She stops
he stops
time stops
An arm of silk lace
glides
from beneath the shawl
nails touch the palm
a finger points down
the gardener looks away
"Here"
The vapor follows the word
thick, sweet, hers
and drifts to his face
A step forward
and down
shadowed in her power
secure in her strength
And he paints
one step
Green
Pitted and weather worn
scarred and honoured
painter and canvas
When finished
a slow glance upward
time measures the depth of her return
one sword upon another
Blades cannot cross
as one
but surrender is willing
He rises
her silent echo
as before
down the stone
click clack
The gardener stood
as the painter bowed
is he now servant to the gardener
Had she pointed there
the gardener would have
trembled in dispatch
knowing his place as well
What has she gained?
what she already had
And his gain?
what she already had
An agreement
perfect in settlement
consummated in device
Why green?
She knows
Might she not have stopped
certainly
Might he have refused?
never
Does the gardener know?
he thinks
Will he tell?
the power is in the keeping
the whoring in the telling
All whores have a price
and knowledge an author
Click clack
click clack
Is it bridge?
Yes
To where?
Click clack
Click clack
~Rick
