Green how I love you green. Green wind. Green boughs. The ship on the sea And the horse on the mountain.
Little black horse. Where are you taking your dead rider?
While the poet wrestles with the horses on his brain and the sculptor wounds his eyes on the hard spark of alabaster, the dancer battles the air around her, air that threatens at any moment to destroy her harmony or to open huge open empty spaces where her rhythm will be annihilated.
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