a gypsy can make a woman run free in the greenwood bare ankles and streaming hair caught in the branches of an ash tree or the slender fingers of her lover. To a gypsy a woman is a harp string who holds a single note when plucked. He can play her twist her in a knot around an oak frame. The motion of her body is music. Gypsies know many songs. To a gypsy moonlight and wine are the same. An empty cup can be filled with either and he shall drink. They are sweet like moonlight through an open window or the eyes of a virgin watching through the glass wondering at the gleam of golden eyes. To a gypsy a road is more than a road. It is a rope stretched between two points that hums and twists and sings. A road is a woman a cascade of hair on linen sheets when dawn comes and she wakes empty glasses and shuttered blinds and a bundle of twigs beside her. |
