In Herculaneum

R. GENE PIPPIN

IN HERCULANEUM

The tongues of Vulcan pour

To lap you: so newmade,

So small, may you evade

Creeper and web, the roar,

From throats that roll, of Whore,

Vestal, Great Mother, Witch

(and 'Weeping Willow', which

You've cried for), guidebook lore,

Yes, even Dear Love, and be

Untongued, untaled, unlabeled

By slow old fires, unbabeled

Tabula rasa, free

Of scrawls like wires gone wild,

Yes, even of this My Child.