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stand with your lover on the ending earth ---
and while a (huge which by which huger than
huge) whoing sea leaps to greenly hurl snow
suppose we could not love, dear; imagine
ourselves like living neither nor dead these
(or many thousand hearts which don't and dream
or many million minds which sleep and move)
blind sands, at pitiless the mercy of
time time time time time
--- how fortunate are you and i, whose home
is timelessness: we who have wandered down
from fragrant mountains of eternal now
to frolic in such mysteries as birth
and death a day (or maybe even less)