When will you tire
of sitting next to doors,
feeding animals and children,
even in the dark ages
women kept guard at night,
the sky rushed back as if
it had forgotten something
and the sun became the number
one fuel, there one moment
and the next, tapping its head
till it grew light and we finally
undressed, turned sleeves inside
out, the light so deep we watched
it, settled back and just watched,
we’re watching it now but if we
turn around in what is called
the magic art of looking back,
men go to women, water to wells.
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