ELEANOR ROSS TAYLOR
Homesick in Paradise
You, light of sunset firing my back fence;
you, wren advising wrens where to bed down,
bypassing, as they close, baled lilies;
stars, inching in,
you, scalloped pillowcases;
you, pale lamp and fat paperback:
no otherworldly life
replaces you, my dreams
of flesh and bivouac.
Eternal peace won’t stop
my looking back
wild bouts of bliss.
No purity makes up for mongrel wags.
How’s cloudless sky to thrill
one hooked on storm of human kiss?
On up this stairway in the flickering light?
A handrail? . . .
Squeaky hinge? . . . Up, up . . . ?
Goodbye! My ticket’s stamped: tonight.
Lawrence at the Etruscan Tombs
Three Days in Flower
When to Stop
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