He walked so far
He went through himself
And became a she
Deep outline of breast
With mound of pubis
Pushed up by legs crossed at rest.
Only half of her showed,
The other a half formed of doubt
Full of the stuffing of fields and time
Old before she was young,
A changeling thing
Ready to dance erotic dreams
Or fall apart back into dust,
The task of decision
Left to the beholder
To set her walking again.
Poem by Richard Druitt