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She was already there—waiting in the stone.  I didn’t discover her so much as remember.  Her hips curved like a question never meant to be answered.  The temple was silent but alive, the air thick with the fragrance of wet earth and blooming vine.

Around her, the carved foliage pulsed with rhythm, drawing breath from the spaces between shadows.  Beneath her, hamsas poised mid-flight reminded me that not all grace is motion.  Her gesture was subtle, almost imperceptible.  Yet the longer I stood with her, the more the world outside the frame disappeared.

She did not need to speak.  She had been speaking long before I arrived.

 

stone hips in shadow
hold the breath before first light—
even wind bows here


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