He and she walked out into a May
and made love under a flowering tree.
The sun lit the buttercups among the new green grass
and shone on the shape of each fresh leaf
pushed out by a rush of juice.
A bird chorus described the sweetness
up to the soft surrounding blue.
The ground was damp and smelt of home.
My beloved is agile and strong
and delicate as a leaping deer.
Come to me. Come.
Then in bliss they rested.
She cupped in her hand
what was now as little and sticky
as a just hatched chick.
Uccellino, he told her and smiled
irresistibly. She kissed him.
After a while: Eppur si muove -
it does move - he said.
Happy, they laughed and -
honouring great Galileo,
who fought for the truth
about what our earth is and does,
against false religion,
and cocked a snook
at the priests in black gowns
who condemned him,
they made love again.
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