This evening, the sun has set in raspberry blush and apricot. Beckoning down with it those trees that shift through emerald tones the shadowed grass has forgot. She lies draped, feasting, curved - carved not in marble but with the ochre the trees leak when the sun is high Deep and rich. Hands dig into figs and pull the insides out, ******* the ambrosia dry Leaving fingertips dripping in rose-hip gold oil myrrh that lights up that dusky soil So when you touch the ground here, the mud is soft like the moonlight over her And the juniper berries oft get stuck between your teeth and make the air taste sweet. Reflections in water mark no shimmering Daphne. She is flesh and blood That desires not only to eat, drink and dance But to feel full in her heart, to cry when needed Flawed as a child is. She pulls her hair back from her face too regularly and spits out cherry stones like a boy unimpeded. And above her head soft stars form in Ariadne's guise A vision of rich apples and pears, dark by midnight skies.