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Take apart the bride,
           dismember, ye sharers of meaning;

if only, you will remember,
           she remains always put back together.

There is no again
           in her evening.

 

The bride on her bridal night
           lies in your arms;

she is old, but new,
           and borrowed, too,

waiting, in silence
           for stars to collide.

Waiting, in blue silence,
           she lies with starry eyes.

© 2007 Claudia La Rocco