once you told me
making love to me is making love to the earth

I think I'm finally beginning to understand what that means that
a painted landscape is not nature that
the leaves change colors
that fluctuations mean nothing to the
overwhelming feeling of the air and the
wind and the sun

I cannot celebrate men
they've never understood the fluctuations and
the cycles or had
red life leak out them
I cannot find my many selves in their eyes
only the appreciation that I am what they are not