Writings by Tim Girvin
B A T H E D I N M I L K

The ground appears

to have been
bathed, in milk -- liquid light
coming down, in buckets
from her,

moon.

Lovely,
she does that.

Really only
once a month,
if
she reveals herself.

I went for a walk this morning,
without any clothes.

And this pissed off a heron, who squawked and honked off, over the water...gliding away, I could hear the wings,
imagining the moisture, rippling from her.

Like a bracelet of sound, beneath...

I lit some candles at the cairns and came back in, skin bristling with cold.

Exquisite exposures, to sense.

+
--
Decatur Island
(Originally sent: October, 02 2004)

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