- for Stuart Ramos, wherever you are -
I awoke (or so it seemed) at my place of birth.
April was sodden through her virgin girth.
But the scene abruptly changed, as is apt in Spring.
Some participles dangled in a votive ring,
surrounding me on a meadowy mead.
There was a prettiness in their unassumed brawn
as their tongues relaxed in their mouths and rolled out long.
Then I bade the shadowy fellows speed
as they conjugated freely into the dawn.
Oh how they left me there in my grammar of need!
I lingered hard along the channeled way
until I found you again, back in old PA,
where your smile had preceded you in sun-drenched May.
In the buxom season you tuned the strings
as I grouped and denominated abject things.
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