Godiva

Is My horse white,

like the flying moon,

or black as fecund, humble earth,

the horse I ride bareback, naked, 

My long hair flying?

My hair, is it gold as spun sun,

or black as silver-seeded night?

My lips are red as monthly blood,

My teeth white, starlight!

Is My bare skin rich dark,

or white, ghost white?

In My fertile biding

time of the moon,

in My red riding time,

non-violent blood dripping,

I circle, cycle,

celebrating freedom,

blessing the fallow fields,

rite of spring,

with plenty.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018