Your Feet

When I cannot look at your face I look at your feet.

Your feet of arched bone, your hard little feet.

I know that they support you, and that your sweet weight rises upon them.

Your waist and your breasts, the doubled purple of your nipples, the sockets of your eyes that have just flown away, your wide fruit mouth, your red tresses, my little tower.

But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.