white petals lay before her
feet, a breeze
soft, silent,
quakes like aspens
quivers like maple
floats like reeds-
water oaks hold out their arms, hover
as a mother would, hold her elbows
as a father
would
as if to say-
"Come child,
you were always meant
to be received." (her lover sees her)
and she is unafraid
of what his gaze can
do, for already her
orphaned feet like exiled
sheep, have begun to shed
their calloused wounds
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