The spiritual herdsman rides up on her 4 wheeled steed
She is accompanied by her small minion in a cage
She smells of perfume
her hair curls in grieving ringlets
her chin hangs under her smooth-skinned cheeks
her accent tastes like over-sweetened butter

She is preceded by Jess from what town? Richardson?
Who brings along a small goddess who walks in casually
My day closes here in reflection of who walked in my door
ah-weh, the way 
of the day
is caught up 
in the sound of
a stick
on
a 
skin

The gathering tables of imagination
And setting sunrise of dawning connection draw us
So we cast fire from our souls 
over fields lined with highways
ss if the insistence on this one aim
will be the voice that speaks to her feet

The day closes in busy comfort 
That shakes it dice In the cup of creation
The finger counts how many moves 
she can advance
wait no
the herdsman long departed 

The goddess safe at home
I sit with my beloved
As they count
their moves
1, 2,
3