No sudden blow upon the still air,
nor is she helpless in the swollen
inlet where they court
under overhanging willows,
necks braided like snakes.
Nothing unusual
in the way he mounts her,
no great beating of wings
as she sinks beneath his weight,
she knows enough to keep her head above water.
The tide turns, they drift among mallards,
bowing and swaying like a couple
of scholars debating
the pure forms of love.
--Geri Rosenzweig
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