We enter the gates.
No birdsong -- and the lake
shallow, yoked in green.
where a figure stands
casting his line and shadow.
Across the water fountain
ants sprawl in black
panicles. The shade leaves
so dry, they rasp in the wind.
Fearful, we turn around
but don't glance back.
Our slender hands
joined, encasing -- the light unseen.
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