מר–חשון. תשע’'ד
.When men fly away, they leave no
footprints for their lovers to follow
.They leap forward into an
airy abyss with the hope of greater promise on their wings
,Broken-hearted women wander frantically
as they search for traces of a fallen feather
.even an eyelash until
they finally look up and see the vastness of blue that swallows
everything
Tied by the musclar passages of our
uterus, we dance upon dirt red as blood
.carrying squealing, purple babes at our
breasts
Our love is gathered from fiery sparks
of sun. And with shovels and plows, we plunge that love deep into
the earth, where alone in the dark, it looks upward for water
.From that vast, blue plain
Candice Herne
[http://candiceherne.blogspot.co.il/2011/02/drawing-feathers-for-week-feather-5.html]
