Cups: 8

There is no salutation.     The harvesters with gunny sacks bend picking up jade stones. (Sure that Amor would appear in sleep.     Director.    Guide.) Secret borrowings fit into their hands. Cold on the tongue. White flecks on the water. These jade pebbles are true green when wet. On the seventh night, the branches parted. The other replied, How photographic.      Amor doesn’t appear on demand.   He’s more like a snake skin. If he fits, he lets you in or sheds your body against the rocks. I slept in a fort. My bed pushed up against the log enclosure.    At 3:00 his ankles pressed against each side of my head. When I woke crying for help he rose near the kitchen door dressed as a hunter. The other replied, Amor born like a cup trembles at the lip.   Superstitions fit into your hands. Thou has returned to thy house. The other replied, Torn loose from the eaves, the blood trembles at the lips. Nine fetters on thy feet Nine crossings of the street Nine suppers where they meet Nine words of loss repeat this and that Nine hunters cross the field Nine lovers yield their right of way Two came fighting out of the dark.