Amulet

But you are ideal,

O figurette,

and cool as camphor.

You wander formal

in an ice-green panelette.

The small blue eyes

are set in jadework.

And your hand stings

like a drop of witch-hazel.

Bless the white throat

of this lady

drinking clabber milk

at a buffet lunch.

SEALIGHT

After the jostling on canal streets

and the orchids blowing in the windows

I work in cut glass and majolica,

and hear the plectrum of the angels.

My thoughts keep dwelling on the littoral,

where china clocks tick in the cold shells

and the weeds slide in the equinox.

The night is cold for love.

We favor the chorus