spring-fed and flower walls
of unlikely purple blooms
lead the eyes up
to an explosion
of sunflowers,
teetering arches over
the black pond
where bodies float
toward one another
or move apart
in all of their nakedness,
resting on stones
that echo the millennia
from when they rolled
off the high parts of the valley
to the low,
and the gravel bed
where toes grab
pebbles like a child,
steam rising
to meet the falling darkness
that covers each shadowed face
with welcome surrender
and also a longing –

so close together,
so far apart
under the very same