There were two Bolshevik women,
and she lay down between them.
One was a pale, supple perovskia atriplicifolia,
the Russian wild flower, and lay strong, unguarded,
solitary as in a remote field.
The other was nothing more than a woman,
but strangely greater than the sum of her woman's parts,
and both were close but unreachable.
Only their breath in the dark, metered, slightly out of tune
as a distant song, was indistinguishable
one from the other and from her own.
(Originally posted October 5, 2008)
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