Image (For Maureen)

His torso is like a tree trunk
to which I cling,
a pillar
that bends with the wind,
turning and twisting.

His buttocks are married as boulders,
an oiled machine
driving earthquake and fire
and flooding.

He enters my body like lighting
or a mountain stream
in thaw,
full of rending and grinding.

his breath is a breeze after storm
or heat lightning’s seeding
and the fecund sweetness of breeze
after summer rain.