I sing the peculiar

            Of necessity

 

            Because my voice is

            Ill-trained and, perhaps,

            Immature

 

            The great seas with their teeming undercurrents,

            The forests of insect indiscretion

            And the mountains that open their breasts to the

            Relentless snow –

            They are beyond me

 

            And you and your eyes

            Though close – they too

            Elude

 

            Therefore I rest my head

            In the crook of your knee

            And note the scales

            Of your heel and hope

            You will not be offended

            When you shake me off,

            My rough untutored tongue