donnybrook

What Rilke said about that fruity head

Is true, I dare say, about you,

Legendary, spilling out the light 

Like a watermelon bursts when overripe.

Sometimes I feel you are the inverse

Of the ancient torso that he saw,

I know you whole but can only see 

The space between the parts.

I feel I have been steeped in you,

And like a bee’s spasmodic attempt to flee

Out of a calyx full of wine or mead

I find myself short of breath 

With a racing heart

All afluster’d, as if I had just taken part

In a donnybrook.