This is a work of speculative fiction. It is the longest "poem" I've ever written (120+ lines). Or maybe it is my shortest short story.

Thanks for readng

My husband approaches: rain approaching thirsty ground--
I am thirsty ground: I am virgin ground: He is the plow:
I am a well plowed furrow: He is the harrow: He is gentle–“?”
I don’t want gentle. “Harder”“I don’t want to hurt...”
My hand finds a thistle stem, I lash it across his butt.
“Harder.” Harder-pleasure pain mingled “Harder”.
I clench my teeth till i taste blood I’ve bitten his
Shoulder to t he bone. I feel my blood flow from
The bite he gives my; sense our blood mingling
with the land and the Well. Covenant sealed
I feel the syncopation of our bodies, the cadence
of hearts beating as one, the building of the climax.
Suddenly, I am Roy, I feel my hands on his back
my thighs on his. His mind is seeing an image of
a long slow journey to the centre of the earth.
I am both male and female, sower and the ground.
This omniscience, this loss of bounds terrifys me
I want to run but I am rooted to, i am the earth.
The Well supports, comforts me. Lightning flashes
Our shared shout of triumph is drowned out by thunder
His seed floods my garden engendering new life
as the rain begins to fall....

We both sleep when its over in the mud in the rain
I dream, we dream, seeing the district from above
everyone is our dancing in the rain, dancing naked
doing a dang sight more than dancing. I blush when
I see the Jones in a passionate coupling by a spring
in their south quarter–and they past eighty! Roy
wakes me. “You did it” he smiles a big goofy smile
I Smile back, “We did it. But how did you know.”
I am confused. “The Well told me.” His smile is catchy
“She seemed to think that as Lord of the Waters I had to choose
As you were to be my Lady of the Well...” “Do you understand?”
“I will, someday, but tonight I promised the I’d clean it up some...”
We clean years of debris out of the well and build a dam at the
lower end, as I am placing the last stone Roy takes me in his arms
I am surprised by the fierce love we make in the mint
The smell of the crushed mint a sweet offering to the powers.
Arm and arm we walk in silence through the rain to the house to a hot,
soapy shared shower, a warm bed and a night of somewhat less cosmic sex
My heart scans the district, the drought is broken-- in three months
There will be a harvest–a good average harvest, next year, too
And on the vernal equinox I will deliver three healthy boys. We laugh,
Roy an I, as we walk back to the house, arm in arm, in the rain . . .