Penultimate in her revelation, life oozes from the apex

of the woman lying in the truck bed

beneath stars.


Red-hot, startled, she explores the bulging buds,

heavy with sap, virginal and exposed,

a mirror of mother Gaia.


She runs her fingers along the green stems,

her hair, the trunks of trees, her legs,

today, it is the opposite of drought.


Trails of warm nectar run down bark,

the wind biting her skin washes away winter,

and she smiles.


She is the centre of the universe,

all the things living reflected

in the glassy milky way above.