Bound on some skillful retreat,
a long march
north and west;
cut off from the rest
we end up foraging
in some scanty orchard,
the two of us.
“A Kiss on the Lips,” “The Wolf on the Fold” and “Make Eve the Apple”
A kiss on the lips,
my lover,
is all I wanted,
when the lights
got low and
time got short;
“On Trial,” “Canzonet” and “Non Dolet”
In the bedlam
of bed-land,
happy as babies,
active as rabbits,
me sky-father
you earth-mother;
“Farewell”, “Dionysus” and “Duffy Ain’t Here”
Kids, when I cut out of this life,
don’t turn on the tears and grieve;
kids, when I die I don’t want
any golden speeches saying kind things
about me or some windbag sniveling about
death’s sting, God’s grace and
the triumphant rise to heaven.