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Honeymoon at Arches

by Casualene Meyer

Like wedding rice
trickling down my stomach
when you loosen my bra,
our words fall—
quiet, scattered words
about women in Mexico City
who write a tourist's name
on a grain of rice,
about writing our names
on numberless grains
beginning now as we rest
on warm sandstone,
its particles become stars
lifting up to the near sky,
falling down to the near earth.