The Rocks At Edale
Because the stones
are wind submissive, water pliant;
turned on wheels of air,
they remind me of village girls
broad buttocks, love handles,
rolling hips. Not like the bony walkers
that climb up here.
Their nakedness is fashioned
by a grinding tenderness.
I sample that roundness,
let my warmth kiss the curves.
Sit next to a pretty one,
eat a ham sandwich,
think fondly of the plump barmaid
in the valley below.
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