What can a low man do when he touches love with a higher woman:
She dances in the stars and twirls galaxies into spinning
He scuffs the soil with dirty toes and no nails, pinning down
She brings rolling thunder clouds in the sky’s height each night
He plants seeds to grow, hoping for green
She cries the rain and turns the weather vane
He mucks out the chicken coop while talking to the hens
She purifies the lakes and the fish cook so well in her recipe
He lays down the fork and can’t imagine a stupid frown
She speaks of things that his brain has never raised synaptic rows
He tries to add fertilizer that won’t burn the roots
She pats him on a balding spot surrounded by graying hair
She dresses in elegant clothes and silk slipper shoes
He stuffs clay feet into old shit-kicker boots
She crosses swords with the great scholars of yore
He counts chicken eggs from the adopted chicken flock
She places oh so gentle lips on his rough ones
His brain begins to grow fuzzy in understanding life
She runs fingers through long beard hairs
He giggles like a child and stands in perpetual confusion
She says the word love from far above down to him
He grows old and dies happy within her celestial being
A seed, rooted in rich, dark star dust earth, “Shoosts” to the sky,
strong and boldly unique, to start them anew

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