Once boyish hair lost its flight
In toussling winds
One cricket leg after another
Found its way to an armchair
To hide in cigar smoke.

Brown eyes seem dull in an oak room
No shine on the chandalier, no
Varnish left to scrub
For you are a curious one who
Found more than your fingers could stand up to,
Trembler.

Move with the beckon of the sunlight
Dancing the dance that keeps you free from shadow
But hold your head with anvils
Not as heavy as memory
Or as straw hats, poorly fitting.

I find it hard to know you,
Land owning pity
But it's something like noble
To try.