Merely by his shadow on the bazaar's cobblestones
I recognize him
and next to its sublime shape
The white minarets of Ariya are humbled
And the orchards of the east, trembling in their dew,
have borne nothing sweeter
than the sweat my tongue traces
From the hollow beneath his throat
As the high tides thunder toward the bay
inexorable, urgent,
the red cliffs gleaming in their spray
So he rushes in to fill me
We drink of each other till dawn
till the lines between us dissipate
like the upward spiral of incense smoke
And the gods see not two souls
But one
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