Catalan Interlude
She tucks long hair behind her ears,
lifts him over dark breakwaters,
their eyes closed, she funnels him
into her purse seine.
Fingers fit watery gloves,
olive oil and rose water,
flavors spill over
Catalan rain clouds,
a musky tarragon,
a salty lamina
folded through
anemone fingers.
Later they watch a topaz sun
ride over waves
as it dips for darting anchovies.
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