and Facebook feeds, Einstein, Trump and
the on and off quantum future of multiverses,
all thrown together in a sonic stew
and smelling to the ear
like something between cacophony and Beethoven's Ninth.
Then you in your New Age hippywear smiling
like the Sun, as a revelation, rising slowly from the sea
to open up the horizon, a liquid orchid.
.
Your partner puts his paddle down
and gives you his best male gaze, tamed
by the times and education, the gaze
your thesis interrogated, embraced now in this light.
And you'll stand there now, in the moment,
like Amelia Earhart washed up on the shore
drenched with the gospel of human experience,
brown hair tendrils in the wind held up in a frame of love,
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