When I open my wallet
to show my papers
pay money
or check the time of a train
I look at your face.
The flower's pollen
is older than the mountains
Aravis is young
as mountains go.
The flower's ovules
will be seeding still
when Aravis then aged
is no more than a hill.
The flower in the heart's
wallet, the force
of what lives us
outliving the mountain.
And our faces, my heart, brief as photos. *
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