FROM THE PSALTERY.

If I were a witching you'd be quick
          enough to dowse that
          in all the magick
          water can muster.

Just enough to be clean on the outside
          & keep the blood buoyant
          on its roller-coaster ride
          ferrying food through to the flush.

Silt of ages, spilt for me
          cleave from a hide
          my thee. My vow of poverty
          had unhappy returns.

If you sign on the dotted swiss
          I'll give you back your willies:
          a chinook can kiss
          a williwaw still.