A train glides through a cobalt blue ocean
Past an espalier of streetlights.
Not only a perfect moment,
But maybe the purpose of life.
The mist hangs heavy on the mountaintop:
A widow’s veil for Armageddon night,
While in a cave, a lad and a blue-haired girl
Make passionate love.
The fountain of youth is not a fountain at all
But a car at nightfall
And a valley below.
Somebody has hung snakes in the trees
Just like draperies, or lametta.
And indeed: With beautifully glistening teeth
They snap for your neck and upset you for a moment
Before the poison does its due.