his hands on her hips
the starting sun moved
along the perimeter of every curve
of pear and pomengranate along
the coast of the sea between
rocky promontories,
navigating without caution or care.
Just as the day rose that way
night collapsed in passion
all about it, threw her arms
across the sky,
traced the air currents sung
the notes of the trees of the
ways of living and dying,
everything of blooming and perishing. 
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