poem for paul

who crocodilia dinnered, thought
was sumptuous, nosing the gauze
off our water glasses

meanwhile birds ding in the trees

we watched one throathold
an owl in the willow, a lass passed off
her silver beetle's trunk

no sooner did he sock the little schooner

from a table we rise away
and back, our sacks of knees,
our definitive positions

we were the ones reaching out
river, gowned down river, who was moon
in our tiny eyes

to river

with us from northern cities,
small as insignias now down
stream and fruit of lute and sparrows
someplace like sticky tassels in his teeth

he’s a collasal crosser just like paul

who swallowed the moon then wept,
once, as excellent gestures do
in a pinch

where he wheels he is
we are pleased to meet