Your slow involute hips cradle the eternal synonym for God. 

                             Walter Benton 
 
 
 
 

Entry   March 2 
 

      Your dauntless, wide, whitish eyes stare,

squeeze lemons in my waters. 

I grow furiously ill when seen by other men,

they are lumber yards, sterile. Praise to whatever sifts me

free from the contamination that is not you. 

I was taut and dwindling when I let you in. I see you lip move--making

my name. 

~Then we ate dry brown rye, fruit

and cream, honey in tea.~ 

When I see grass between cracks in concrete, I shall wish for you.

When Great Star looks directly at me, I shall wish for you.

When my cheeks go red chasing paper planes, I shall wish for you.

When passing elders, rooted down, upbraid the walk, I shall wish for you.