The fences have fallen -
cut by the wants of the divine;
ungentle bovines,
satiating and soiling
in the nothingness of freedom.
She watched them wander
despite his sweating displeasure,
caring instead for the idle taste
of his doubts and her sweet,
sun-warmed wine.
She toasted the land, and her love -
drowning prescience
and her folly for certain
kind of thirsts.
W.S. Vun; 2006
