I didn’t know her then.

I still seek to know her now,

my sweet wife,

almond eyes and river silt skin, with its soft solar surface.

Our confluence is sacred.

Our confluence is secret.

These two underground rivers running through old clays,

that when dug deeply across and within,

may seem dissimilar, in that they hold different data,

but there is this same ancient origin,

there in some grassy highlands,

with rich mineral beds from volcanic streamings

of an inner sun seeking surface.

 

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