that

I will not say you are Irish my love but that you have crossed the hidden
things of what puffs off on lips away



its calender debut a negative span to child bear
the hours of its pleasing the way it captured its seeking over the can of filters that was out choice the relieving hour and the sea spent captain
over the win of its chop chop chapel my guarded flag c




Will you not say silver Irish
curling upward the socking?





Pardon me? was this only refusal of I in the mending awry of tell of that then this oh its wry comment. No, yes, . No. No its open vowel of .




Pardon me, I beg your pardon begetting the hours of dawn, its straw dust back




.




No,

begging pardon at this larceny of the hour


the speed of its thought



.




Meeting at the corner .



the n.