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The Egg
In the azure
Mount of Nights,
Phoenician vine
and canniest nymphs
enrapture Baal's meadows,
while Astrate slumbers in the shade.
The spirit, willing...
sneaks unto her
a gander
nesting on her breast.....
quivering,
loving.
The feathers molted
and from the egg
hatched my poesy.
Copyright © Munir Mezyed
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