I bless her now as her back turns away,
On another weary trip to find her man,
Dreamy of one who is collage of many,
Of thirteenth zodiac, born and unseen,
But husbands come all made and ready,
Melting, stamping, drawing and curing,
Too tedious an affair with hours in heat,
You could tend to him instead as plant,
See him strike roots deep, shoots high,
Wait through cycles of seasons to fruit,
Till your teeth brittles even to flesh -
And finally retreat to cool of his shade.
Having done grandma rituals on trees,
Her feet go far slower, gaze more acute.
(2012)