by David Veloz
The horizon is women: potatoes like stones surround their fourskirts, folded as though they're shrouds and pillared about their legs-a canvas bone to gather on . Root rocks fill their bags the way clouds fill the horizon, clouds they claw for and pick like daisies in an Easter time . The earth is mud , the sky is women, and here they wish with their mouths for clouds to kiss from the dirt as they kiss up potatoes. Bending like women should bend in a garden, in love, with cherries and tulips and wine, they rain and gather clouds. Pouring to lend the idea they are gathering, gathering time to kiss and bun their hair, and then planting to pick, to kiss to show they're not wanting .
