She began reading to me:
In this goldboughed desert
The book-massive yet small scenic mysteries grow
Along the sandbars of the Sacred Dog
Persephonic pups blurt GOG! AGOG!
With donut-closing cuteness.
Her liquids sting, fluent in Oak
Hiding an imposter of Ash before
He emerges to offer the conchling
The apparatus coil of record, two-tongued, filling for the Silos.
Apocalyptic feints in the Glowing Garden.
The fiery, insecure port of bestial alarms And adorative apples
That slither to you
With sea-sacred charisma
She smiled and said: “It’s a love poem from Vladimir Adam to Ukrainian Eve!”