We drive through hills bellies and thighs of earth.
Patchwork of vines on South-facing hills,
clouds of chestnuts on the North.
I want to wear these hills fabric woven of sun and leaf
granite and burn
My breasts clothed in forests of teaseled velvet,
skirts of splendid spreading chestnut leaves,
knotted with hard-husked jewels.
Silken rill unwound from a larval cocoon
between my thighs.
Descending a forested dale
cool breeze sings with many birds.
To the west the Pavilion of Alix
Countess of Provence flower of the troubadours
her beauty & her violet eyes
to the north, the River Aveyron:
fluttering bird catching bugs
on sorties from a low oak branch.