Saturday, September 22, 2012

As I groom an English Cocker and prepare to grille some quail

It is a riddle I ponder more and more,

in Fall, when I find myself enjoying
the amenities of country living as if
friends were not disseminated as in a
diaspora we cannot interrupt for dinner.
I fashion my existence as if it were
not so that Valéry Lorenzo is in Naxos,
far away. What mechanism sustains this?

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