Earth Mother Bernice
bends to serve
with her perfect platonic nose,
my barbaric knife and fork,
baiting
lady’s stoneneck soul
providing any old bottle a cover,
though labels grow insignificant when lost in anticipation
5:00 shadows resound
all full-fledged into today,
she offers the just right ingredients,
exactly measured
while I roughly peel colors off these walls
lamenting the remaining incantations of a masterpiece,
the faded covering
originated from someotherplace
just to be
yet close enough to feel her tender breath
9/29/72