There was a general vagueness to our  camera
A fog of the rain, a fuzzy smoke in  green valleys
Where woman and mountain merged in each other.
We had tea on the slopes, where women hung
At the sky’s edge , about two leaves and a bud
A basket where they hurled their green pickings.
Our tea was spread in plastic bag, in green light
Not a tea in cup that warmed  stomachs in smoke.
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