Stephen Todd Booker
PLUGGING ALL LEAKS
for M.B.S
Beyond our crowded shelf of brittle reef,
Though no horizon has the jump on you,
Is a sunrise coming due, to case us
When scrutinizing love. That is the thief
Who makes no distinction between the new
And the used: he has little, but enough
Faith in the imminence of setting suns.
For this, we respect how a mountain is
More than a mere reef with dunes upon dunes—
And how dawn is sometimes only eyes
And nosy noses, and ears, each fluent
In the pitter-patter of rain and feet.
Though haven't we seen how they run to meet
Beyond any horizon's tears well-spent?
L' RECIPE CONTRAIRE
If pressed on the subject of this banquet,
Concocted from a spiel long ago stashed,
Squirreled away in escrow until rehashed,
An allusion to how any secret
Can do like an acorn does for us all
Should do, ghosting itself as a spook,
Borrowing its strength from gobbledygook,
And as a tree is felled but will not fall;
For who among you doesn't remember,
That with no one there to record the thud
Of another desiccated poetic writ,
Must needs be a mind's eye when if limber,
To see the forest, its trees, of the cud
Of me with feedbag on while chomping at the bit?
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