Liberties There's nothing Artificial about our Intelligence

In that instant,  dear daughter, when they flashed like cupid’s arrow through the current  of saltwater where you splashed, more narrow and more terse than any gleam, I thought I felt  within my gut love’s old curse entering the dream — that through no fault of yours but beauty, fresh  as it is fierce,  you should become as bait to any fish whose point would pierce, as if from nowhere, while I wait.