She lay
prostrate, slacking
hands finger-laced holding her
head a-tilt in a cradled home
arched thoracic curve stretched along
her low divan, Great Turtle, a-hoary
old gent ten lives over.
Outward gazes her eyes, upward
are the stars a-bright
night a-lit and knowing
of her wonder
of the universe offered
legs spread long, lean
an akimbo of pointed joints a-journeying
spiny curves of shell
beneath her knees between
tanned calves and toes
painted salmon pink
Terra Firma slightly tilts
curiouser and curiouser
gaze caught by the rush on the globe
she is drawn by the slander
and as quickly drawn away
sorrowfully she goes down in slumber
snail’s pace lulling her slowly
