WOMAN WALKING
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n oblique cloud of purple smokeacross a milky silhouetteof house sides and tiny trees--a little village--that ends in a saw edgeof mist-covered treeson a sheet of grey sky. To the right, jutting in,a dark crimson corner of roof.To the left, half a tree: --what a blessing it isto see you in the street again,powerful woman,coming with swinging haunches,breasts straight forward,supple shoulders, full armsand strong, soft hands (I’ve felt them)carrying the heavy basket.I might well see you oftener!And for a different reasonthan the fresh eggsyou bring us so regularly. Yes, you, young as I,with boney brows,kind grey eyes and a kind mouth;you walking out toward mefrom that dead hillside!I might well see you oftener.
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