"You wept. You said,
'There
is
goodness,
That from bayberry made modest candles
And rose jam from hips and haws.
And Blake talked English with the angels.'
And you wanted to make love to me,
Though I can't imagine how."
6.
When morning breaks, he takes
His
firs~
drink of water in a day.
Petite veille d'ivresse, sainte!
His orange fireball eye sees,
Dried yolk yellow like a slicker,
The faded fire hydrant
Pop from the grass like a bird's note,
And its black beak tweets
Me! Me!
frederick Seidel
