You made a warm afternoon.
You were magnetic and cornucopic:
Insatiable flames make new shoots bloom,
Summer gifts gushing from the valley;
Never burning enough in celestial blinding night,
You're tarted up like a whore;
But there is no eyeshadow can obscure your light,
This vibrant dance with the fruits of chance;
This season gives before there is asking,
Sprouting firm boughs giving more than wealth;
Naked, languid sustenance,
You grew ever new from ripe soil:
Clutching forever, holding long breathes,
If there is life past death, heaven is permanently this.
contra Bill Pascoe, Eighteen