And Neptune the king of the mists
out there beyond the reaching finger of Jesus.

 

One fist made I lower my sights
to the left hand the sinister one. I count
now the misfortunes of my neighbour.

Look at the eyes, burnished black beads
and the sharp yellow of the beak and inside

Something draws me to you the tug of experience
In the emporium of your remembered taste and touch.