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You tie my hands  
-- those verdant vines,  
a wait a second,
a lover's slipback  
for a moment  
under these Spring trees  
eyes check out, sail  
ravenous green,  
the fertile reaches
begging on ears.  
And all rich peripheral will be  
as irrelevant as bulbs  
just waking up,  
their chemical layer  
breaking through,  
soil down trampled  
by aching, arching flesh
as if bolted Heaven's gates.