.....

She lounges on a mushroom
     with her hand on the hatchery
         of unforced feeling, root-music
            of elms withstanding
       a century of disease
   where they hum on the land
                    in strong droves,
          silver-bronze lamps, in the soil


She thrills the envelopes
           underside of the thawing bridge
      He blankets a field of horror ants
    with denim and lank form
      they are on a hunt for
                          miraculous  eyeglasses,
     unattended lavish banquets,
        things that fish for
                                the dead