I love a woman with a wheelbarrow.
Her strong brown arms, maybe gardener tanned
are as much sculpture as anatomy.
I love how she puts her load
Ahead of her, pushing it
to do her bidding.
I love a woman with a wheelbarrow.
I love a woman on horseback.
The voluptuous stack of buttocks
Stitch the air with a sweet sashay
How a woman holds a mare with her knees
How a mare holds a woman with her scent,
How I hold them both in my gaze.
I love a woman on horseback.
I love a woman on a rock face.
Arms stretched, fingers gripping small lips of stone,
Toes attentive to the dance that follows.
She climbs as much in mind as in body
She dwells as much in molecule as in being.
Serenity follows the ghosts of chalk.
I love a woman on a rock face.
I love a rock face challenging the woman.
First impressions of peril didn’t work
She trusted a deeper call and attended, now
Its rough face is drunk on her perspiration,
It taunts her temerity as she drags a leg
Across one precipice and on to a ledge.
I love a woman on a rock face.
I love a horse in motion with the woman,
The fine syncopation of arms and legs
A parallel of tails to flow in the back draft.
How a bounce of stride translates
Into a bounce of bodies and sky
How the pair melts into a single action.
I love a woman on horseback.
I love the wheelbarrow that helps the woman.
How it leverages its load with ease, offers
a red steel bucket to brighten the chore.
Her gloved hands hold the hickory handles
like a bird grasping a branch. Even
the discreet little tire rises strong.
I love a woman with a wheelbarrow.
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