When She was a Man

she ran on other fuels.

Scanned horizons with another set of
eyes, prized another set of tools;

the boot, the sword.

Her action was as good as her word and
when she was a man she sang a darker
song, a long one, mournful and strong and
she stretched her nerves to the length of her stride.

Split the width of her fear with pride
and plain pursuit,

her sword, her boot

set firmly, yet fleetingly,

at the foot of a hill,
at the side of a sea,
at the edge of a cliff,
at the root of a tree.