First,

I had had a thought so
unnerving I went cold all over,
in the heat. What if I love this
man, whom I hardly know,
more than I’ve loved any other
man,

and at once ,

I was a water fountain,
at grammar school, in the
hall, a bubbler, I was
bubblering,

I

had turned into a water-bearer
who couldn’t bear but

blubbered

her water with gulpy blubbers
on a hot summer day. Years ago,
I had been a sudden desert
fountain most days, at

old love

’s fresh sudden end. And now,
here I am, again, but not in my
cherryskin armor,

again,

not with my cherry bow and
juice-tipped arrows and dried
cherry jerkin and quiver, and
cherry scenthound—not that

aging,

cherry Artemis again, it feels

different,

now, with this humorous curious
man, I feel as if we may be the

distilled,

fruit, the liquor itself, as if I’m
in the interior of new love’s mouth,
I am safe, under his tongue. And
under my own tongue, look who
you see—look!,

perfectly safe.

it is he.