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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!”

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