In Africa the wine is cheap， and it is

    on St. Mark's Place too， beneath a white moon.

    I'll go there tomorrow， dark bulk hooded¹

    against what is hurled² down at me in my no hat

    which is weather： the tall pretty girl in the print dress

    under the fur collar of her cloth coat will be standing³

    by the wire fence where the wild flowers grow not too tall

    her eyes will be deep brown and her hair styled 1941 American

    will be too； but

    I'll be shattered by then

    But now I'm not and can also picture white clouds

    impossibly high in blue sky over small boy heartbroken

    to be dressed in black knickers， black coat， white shirt，

    buster-brown collar， flowing black bow-tie

    her hand lightly fallen on his shoulder， faded sunlight falling

    across the picture， mother & son， 33 & 7， First Communion Day， 1941——

    I'll go out for a drink with one of my demons⁴ tonight

    they are dry in Colorado 1980 spring snow.

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