I mumble through my words to find
a charm against her darker mind,
a garlic necklace, sheath of lead
as prophylactic to her dread.
Strip the heavens of the moon
to make my love a wrist-balloon.
Unscrew the daffodils; de-vein
the blood orange; winnow the grain
from the vodka; dehydrogenize
the Twinkie; blind the tuber’s eyes;
teach the friarbird to pray;
lemon-juice the Milky Way.
Or, if she’ll be better cheered,
cross wires with words and make them weird:
Lunette, Samsara, Dithyramb,
Obeah, Pollard, Klaxon, Kohl,
Vibrissa, Bibelot, Girasol,
lend her your mystery, and bless
her luckless hours with puckishness.