I tastest t'is wind-ah, still far too sour, and bitter,
And whether it shall get better, I never knoweth;
But who says t'at our past woes are tethered to our sorrow,
When two souls doth align-and find once more-a brighter shelter?
For every real love shall neither be wrong, faulty, nor mean,
Whenst beauty is appraised, it shall stay humble and remain unseen;
For its comeliness is just like a warm-hearted sparkle,
Even friendlier, than life canst once assume-or handle;
Though ethereal still, in the vagueness of my succulent mirror.
For look-how it returns my kisses not-but tempts it into shabby remorse!
Ah, yet I imagine how it might-and might just feel, to kiss thee,
And free myself-from t'is emptiness which hath oft' set me alight, in agony;
Without thee now, I am too frail and not very strong;
I loveth thee better still-and hath been awaiting thee all along.

For the Disney print princess
who knows what she's about,
who finds fascinating worlds within dust cover jackets,
who sends smiles in parenthesis; lost love brackets
over classroom mid-drifts,
a bare silence interrupted by pure kindness;
for who walks in noise behind inaudible
commuters from this station to that station
all the way home and back out again on her family vacation,
who can match and pair t-shirts and jeans with
bowler hat crowns from the palace of queens,
who, for all we know, could eat with elbows on tables
and read not prose, but short fiction fables,
who wouldn’t hold doors open or say thank you
to bus men and their drivers,
who might smoke away her pay
with great plumes almost every day,

who might not be the girl I thought she was.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn
What a vision of loveliness you have become
As I watch from the wings sipping a Pimms
A one-sided love affair has just begun

She holds a martini and graciously flirts
Still wearing the fetching tennis skirt
All the boys stare as she climbs up the stair
Every one wishing she could be theirs

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn
Did I cheer too loud for the match that you won?
Was our handshake too long when I told you well done?

And now it is nineteen seventy one
What an excellent wife and mother you've become
But alas not to me
Miss Joan Hunter Dunn

Stars fell into day—
Burning in redden silence,
Leaves float on still lake.

Coiled golden serpent, furiously hisses from behind the thicket,
hiding mongoose, wakes up from its siesta, gets alert,
game of life and death, spying on each other goes on nonstop,
death hidden in serpent either surrenders or escapes now and awaits its next chance.