And you reply: I love
Artemesia but she
loves another or that’s
some ancient scratch
in the yellow of
a shadow, smoking.
A strategic mistake,
overloving lines and equally your shade
a moving picture of summer sun
something more than a rebus
less than a glass
in a tiny hamlet for girls and boys
of which all you are necessarily one
halfway to an ever-increasing number of others
and far
from any plantation