Poetry was easy …

Poetry was easy when
I called the tune

l’amour courtois, ma belle Helene …

Now ‘Eleanor’ respells her name
and wraps thus mystery
in different garb.
How fair the stars beneath an Illian sky …
but concrete and prestressed demands a new vibration,
faded denim for the lady.

And just when I thought I had it taped …

Now the girl that is within you
calls me,
nor bewitchment nor enchanted
still she calls me
deeply from inside
where once I kept a quiet house
and ordered a retreat
you penetrate in subtle searing ways
that catch my poor emotion from repose …

oh, that my heart could feign
such disarray!

You know,
a lady scarce would catch me out again
so soon
withouth an explanation …

… forgive me, love is deep.


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