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