I hurried...
a hooded scrape
of epaulette through
rhododendron corridors
an exit to the brace.
All tradition is mine
so I threw her a peace sign
that caught in the ivy
both long-tooth
and way-tied
I walked....
a slow Nantucket sleigh ride
to the field where she waited,
tall,
sheep- skinned in her cuneiform
We talked..
Met, smoking by the ringers net
sequestered in the biscuit verge.
Too long into the bison grass
of Pompeii afternoons, is how
We slept