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He's there among the scented trees (from The Lover of God)
He's there among the scented trees, playing the notes he has taught you. Too late for embarrassment, shy doe nibbling at the forest's edge, shawled in deep blue shadows. He's calling you. The flower of your soul is opening, little deer. The river of scent will lead you deep into the trees where he waits. The bihanga also plays tonight -- do you hear his more distant flute? Black bees carry the moon's luster from flower to flower. The rest of the grove will bloom tonight, I think. How he looks at you, young animal. He shames the moon with his own dark light.
Let's bow down before the young Lord, the deep blue flowers at his feet.
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