A man and a woman sit
among firs, looking eastward.
Sun is rising. Wind
from behind them lifts
them and carries them
over the fir needles.
They whirl, and the motion
carries them
down through the narrow
opening at the center.
Through it each must
pass, with toes curled out,
arms thrown back,
all shame gone.
Robert Bly
http://www.robertbly.com
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