As a youth he read only poetry, a bee supping only on
nectar, an angel sipping ambrosia.
The artist paints the lily.. water colors dry on the canvas
.. but the lilyroots remain wet
The present's fleecy cloud wrapping is removed revealing
the jewel Sun streaming His own ribbons.
Hexagonal are honeycombs and snowflakes
and the columns in the Giant's Causeway that basalt makes
and round Saturn's north pole it is not his rings
but a sixpointed hexagon which does Jupiter brake
April south wind stirs October leaves of red into a mobile
with no visible threads
Unlike a freshman's trunk, overpacked, clothes spilling out,
the epigrams of Gore Vidal... have a world in few words.
Poets you love are rungs on a ladder...
for your morning glory poems they become a lattice