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 In love they wore themselves in a green embrace.
A silken rain fell through the spring upon them.
In the park she fed the swans and he whittled nervously with his strange hands.
And white was mixed with all their colours as if they drew it from the flowering trees.
At night his two finger whistle brought her down the waterfall stairs to his shy smile which like an eddy, turned her round and round lazily and slowly so her will was nowhere—as in dreams things are and aren't.
Walking along avenues in the dark street lamps sang like sopranos in their heads with a voilence they never understood and all their movements when they were together had no conclusion.
Only leaning into the question had they motion; after they parted were savage and swift as gulls.
asking and asking the hostile emptiness they were as sharp as partly sculptured stone and all who watched, forgetting, were amazed to see them form and fade before their eyes.

Poem by Frank Bidart
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