PAMET HARBOR

For James Haba

Going west to east on the Pamet River I sang

in the wet grasses though I was hardly dismembered

and as far as I could tell neither Christ nor Apollo

was shutting poets up. In fact, I played

my favorite tape while Haba was pulling weeds

out of the motor: "A Kiss to Build a Dream On,"

and "Sweet Lorraine" and "Makin' Whooppee," the

voice,

the one we adored, that wise throatiness -

Apollo couldn't do that-nor the eyeballs

nor the thick lips, the light so brilliant it shone

on all of us, we had to look at the sky;

and the wrinkled smile-Apollo just couldn't do that

with wings alone (though Christ could!) Makin'

Whooppee.