I love crystal fringe on a dance frock
and the ripple of light as you pass
in a plain little chemisette bodice

A garnering squirrel makes a frantic chatter at a posse of cats
that sit and stare while their coats thicken

A cherry colored picture hat
of Tagal straw, its only trimming
a black and white big windmill bow

Thank you for your letter
and its extenuations.

where droop the little ivy shoots
the sun slants down to kiss
the heaps of mellow headstones

an orange devours
the crusts of clouds and you,
getting up, put on

. . . and the curtain rose in that theatre so long ago
and the music is playing
the first song I fell in

Serene and purple twilight of the South
the wind-distorted olives
so dim beside the road

A thin brown stain 
down the white brick wall 
I guess yes 

Look, Mitterand baby, your telegram
of condolence to Yves
Montand tells it like it is