flake

because i adore
the you who boated

from anthony's to the west
room,
(palace of compass points)
your slave son
dragged that white knight
over his shoulder

slung oar feet, nearly scratched my fear
into the floor,

or ten
windows by ten windows
as thrown by poplars
as she was-

a girl by the boat shed
rubbing hand to thigh

waits warm

and displacing
 north, which way
to the loo?

i make it
eight ells
till

love
tumbles