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By Glenna Cook
Child of my dreams, at high tide
you ride the horizon in a hollow
canoe, drifting further from here
toward a landscape of body.
I'll think of you there, in your sea house,
seeking tools to rebuild myth or memory.
Down a path of Chinese paving stones,
soul and body ride a tandem bicycle,
leading a procession, absent and present.
I feel the nostalgic ache
that comes whenever I watch a parade.
Through the open space
between dream and wakefulness,
I see in two mirrors the first
growth of a child and a portrait of Venus
reconstructed, a hip-bone, an ear,
escaping the boundary of protocol,
embracing alterations toward becoming
a new woman. No need to hide
the body, invisible self-portrait,
compartmentalized, a sphere within a cube.
The canoe carries my soul through the divine
amour, shining fusion with body.