Homesick in Paradise

You, light of sunset firing my back fence;
you, wren advising wrens where to bed down,
bypassing, as they close, baled lilies;
stars, inching in,

you, scalloped pillowcases;
you, pale lamp and fat paperback:
no otherworldly life
replaces you, my dreams
of flesh and bivouac.

Eternal peace won’t stop
my looking back
to battlefields’
wild bouts of bliss.
No purity makes up for mongrel wags.
How’s cloudless sky to thrill
one hooked on storm of human kiss?

I must?
On up this stairway in the flickering light?
                A handrail? . . .
                                Squeaky hinge? . . .  Up, up . . . ?
                                                Goodbye! My ticket’s stamped: tonight.  

   Contributor’s notes   
   Eve
   Lawrence at the Etruscan Tombs
   R.J.
   Three Days in Flower
   Transcience
   When to Stop

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