Study of art e mis

I feel still a girl at times and still

so serious; so so serious—

why?

I’d lost my spirituality; cry

I’d only get it back if I begged

and I’d lost my desire to touch the earth

in tears. Old-lit friends and gods’d left me,

or I’d left them, unwishfully;

ghosts of their kindness only come haunting from

the blue-gone past. The lagoon, honey — remember

there the yogi,

sober, wise, sun-browned and wiry,

long-bearded and grey-radiant top-knot?

Look with his eyes

.

“But the weaving is not finished”

.

Weigh the hunter’s dress;

the cloth-barrow heaps toward the river,

handed. The heavy saffron-flower

for the woolen die-bath.

The moonlit tower

far behind.

.

There is no womanly hunter

in manly fatigues any longer,

now arrow-lost and

forlorn wandering.

Just a girl, a serious girl again

without poems

anymore.

.

The shiver and the quiver gone

rafted and exported;

the die-bath

made crimson in jest

and for lack of leaving.

Take; they took her inner poem, gone

muddied and cleaned it through her

and she is empty

sheath missing heart.

Onwards

though words

are tumbling apart

.

.

.

***

#OldFeelings #StrangeDreams #MixedMemories

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