Yet Asunder

The fragile grain of pollen flew in
from the west
on migratory feathers and
on inscrutable waters

oysters bloated with
crunchy balls of
spice, coriander and
chutney and
springs gushed out baked,
seasoned chickpeas

she drew on algae trails of
foreign language
with her
stylus, in whimsical act of
newfangled cadence whose

words appeared bold on
incendiary plume of
origami swans; they burnt with
astonishment as she
touched them
to become throbbing suns on

her bare shoulder beneath
the sodden hair pushed aside
the smitten water out
of his foolish stupor with their

She was but a grain she would
go away
with the wind
so he surrendered to his microcosm,
his humbler and more human
dreams of life


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