Tangerine streaks escape
from the fist of the sun
squeezing yellow mandalas
across pine trees and resurgent grasses.
Each augmented burst of light
becomes a momentary system of its own
a contrast of body and shadow
spooning with the place you used to be.
Through dancing and sex,
we tried to recapture the dancing and sex
from when it seemed to matter,
the time of prologue, veiled in dishonesty
when we brought struggling, new life
to the pan and graben
anesthetized by the crawl of soft noise,
questioning the vapor of fervid noon
asking why we sent sunlight back upon its source reflecting circumspectly on itself.

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