09/22/2025

Slow-moving river by a garlic house

and the trepid green of summer to die; 

there a lover stood in a lily blouse,

duskdark sun sinking her in amber sky.

Her veins golden, divinity her claim,

of Old Man Forest and Lady Wind born

a nymph well-sung into ardour and fame,

a bloom for whom my ardent heart was torn.

To touch and be touch’d, to kill and be kill’d,

such is the promise made to her and me

to stifle the keen want for hearts fulfill’d.

Worth it to wager but one kiss with thee;

forever eagle-peck’d in the liver, 

to push a stone for her by the river.