Arms outstretched, chest up
arched like the curve of a crescent moon,
the train of her long moss gown
sinking deep into the leafy mulch.
The light catches between its arms,
a diamond sparking in the rainbow wood.
Long legs fold into a bench,
fit for the white dusting of the sky.
He crouches into a ball, the circle
his body makes a seeing stone, a hole
for all to gaze through, penetrating the distance
to the other side. The trees wave back.