The stones could be prehistoric fertility figures,
they persist, they redefine the seen.
Water-pliant, submissive,
they are turned on the wind’s millwheels.
Some remind me of farm girls
broad buttocks, love handles,
rolling hips. Not like the bony walkers
that climb up here.
I sit leaning against an ample mound -
feel the womanish stone
shaping its image around me....
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