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by kvennarad

I lift my hand to greet, and the long
line of girls, each in a sun-cloth tobe,

mirrors or rather opposes the gesture,
calling out a single, sharp, clear, high

name in chorus, though if it’s mine or
hers I’ve no way of telling; to right and

left I see a line smiling in recognition
as we advance, while I try hard to pick

the girl meant for me, and at last I see
I’ve headed wrong, because I have to

reach over the greeting arms of another
couple to take her hand, to make her

smile shyly, she a doe, me a doe, each;
suddenly lone and cold, I look left, and

there’s a man in the severe land, whose
loose trousers and long beard are seized

and pulled by the wind, whom the rain
spites to make him tighten his eyes, and

I know we’re on the plain of the eternity
of God, a locus full of such questions;

the hand I waved is now half a balance,
a tug at my blouson recalls me to life.

__________

jupiter©Marie Marshall

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