Most Unnecessary of Things.
| The mountains have no names that they have Given to themselves, But at least I have never made love to any of my cousins; And that is exactly what Alma told me the last time We were in bed, Last Friday morning, turning into me and moaning with Her brown summers, While I was sure that somewhere above us some airplanes We turning around, or at least Advertising: And there were windmills and cartoons, But there she was, summering my bed with the warmth That even the angels don’t have; And I am sorry that I haven’t provided her with any individual Stanzas, But this again is for her, even after she has gone home, And is sleeping with someone else, even if they aren’t Making love, The horse is still cantering doggedly towards the summit, Mad beyond words because some reintroduced wolves have Eaten her foals again without her consent; And some man’s hands turns up the volume again on the news, As the hot air balloons are rising: They are trying to stretch their luck to the moon, Who is laughing gibbously at them, waiting for the world to turn Away again, to leave their dreams stranded somewhere mid summit In the beautiful harems of aspens Whose pale skin blushes at the reintroduction of all of these Otherwise most unnecessary of things. |
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