Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

Like sisters, the cameraman says, praising our closeness. Is this how humans love their sisters, trunks entwined, a large love more sexual than their little bodies can encompass?

Everyone I know is my sister, mother, aunt, child, or Grandmother. Grandmother loves us all fiercely, never as close as I to my lovers, too wise or too careful for bodily love, for singling out just one or two of her daughters.

We, we are old enough to know this desire, not so old that we must turn from it.

Trumpeting at the purple evening sky, shouting our love to the world, to the herd, always to each other, a long low song of joy.

( Note )