A glance--a snipe's
beak–
Opens, he sees
The scorched
Tobacco-y nerve ends ...
2.
They are wandering through the sumac,
Wondering if it is poisonous,
Blondes and brunettes.
"Who belongs to you?" she whispers.
His life is falling.
His butched unruly hair boils
Through her fingers like the ocean.
The sun beats lightning on the waves,
The waves fold thunder on the sand.
She is afraid.
3.
Raising his cigar and drink,
He gives a toast: "To the dying
Wildlife of Mexico-myself!
Ah, to Lorenzo,
Of course, too.
At forty-five, at his noon eclipsed–
Our former neighbor, up there
In heaven with Beiderbecke.
The famous style was just the life,
He handed you the books blade-first,
Keen as a castaway's thirst.
His spirit,
Like a little straight stick,
A little straight stick,
So set and separate, so free,
Wrestled verse by verse
Favorite flowers, birds and beasts."
