They talk of mothers in law
but not of outlaw daughters
her sun and her moon is our son
her cool paleness, reflected
in an eye that looks like mine,
follows her curves along the shoreline
her hair like copper coils
from beneath a straw hat
a Maisie or Daisy, a woman of Stem
for whom we stem talk of servers,
thumbprint keys, on an ancient island
now we are all code-changers
the future arrives as a redhead
green, green love lays a glove
on us, we no longer count
in threes, a quaver
sounds, and the future
all sharps and flats
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