It was a green winter
And the sap rising
Because she was my sister
And I the elder, I let her come.
Between us the waves touchstone
A litmus test; somewhere inbetween
The bruised violet and the red
Flush with pumping.
One dissolves upon another
Where the pure and the salt wrestle
A margin of error the memory cannot hold.
Oh, I know the place,
The waves cross-rhythms
So I grip more tightly
While she falls as if flying
Were losing ground.
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