Robin Hawke

June 15, 2011, 1:15 PM
Filed under: Quotations

Her prayer was scarcely finished when she feels

a torpor take possession of her limbs —

her supple trunk is girdled with a thin

layer of fine bark over her smooth skin;

her hair turns into foliage, her arms

grow into branches, sluggish roots adhere

to feet that were recently so swift,

her head becomes the summit of a tree;

all that remains of her is a warm glow.

   Loving her still, the god puts his right hand

against the trunk, and even now can feel

her heart as it beats under the new bark…



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