Against a mere four ounces of desire
The Master demonstrates his martial art.
The woman understands his outstretched hand to be
An invitation to a sort of dance and so
Relaxes with his lead. She only knows
She's floating when her body jars the earth
With force to push the memory of breathing
From her lungs.
He is a perfect teacher
Sensing this the proper moment for
Instruction. Acknowledging the terror in her eyes
He kindly issues up the secrets of the art:

"Listen, now," he whispers down at her
"Three truths that you must easily see here -
One, you never touched me but became
Unbalanced in that effort. Two, "( he has
To chuckle here,) "you know you did it
Only to yourself, and Three, the most
Important one is that it happens just this way
In every case. Its guaranteed. It Never
Ever fails because you are a woman and
Just like every woman you collapse
Beneath the weight of your own wanting."

She weakly sucks his honesty like ragged air
Grateful just for that, she asks for nothing
Not even grace to breath wthout awareness
Of the miracle of oxygen exchange.

At night her broken places wake her up.
She touches her own skin with fingertips
To test two ounces at her mouth, one ounce
Too delicate at her own breast and here
She knows the weight of hunger in her eyes
Is plenty good enough to risk her life.

The Master also wakes to once again
Caress his tattered black belt,
Mouth the drug that keeps him company,
Burrow deep into his self-denial,
Feeling clean.
Only moonlight shimmers off the cold floor
In the empty house where his bare feet
Throw down roots through gleaming hardwood, raw
Cement, through bedrock and calamity.

Against a current of devotion he stands strong;
Against the whispers of a lover he turns with
Stunning quickness, safe in his perfect chi,
His worthy unbendable heart.

Pam Bradshaw
December 29, 1996