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.