WHITE SANDS

I rise to your rippled skin,
to your breasts swollen with the milk
of sand and stars. And opening
to me, you sift me in,
drink me like pearls, take me
into your deeper grains.
There in the white darkness
roots search for cloud, and given
water is taken completely
then given back freely like the gold
flutter of cottonwood leaves.
We drift like snow, tumble down
the slip face leeward, arrange
ourselves in symmetries, pedestals,
moon arcs, knife edges 
of shadow and light. Our toes 
root in sand. Our fingers 
root in clouds. We span 
white to white with blood 
and breath, flesh and warmth, 
joining the One of earth
and sky with the One 
that once was You and I.



© 2003 by Richard W. Todd

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