There are certain people you should try to avoid.
Some carry their eyes on a plate,
And can boot your brain like a drum.
Others smell like olives and wear too many hats.
But one silent, inky morning you will find one who is white
Waiting beneath the slippery elm.
Take her to the river beyond the thicket, and before your heart congeals
Match her breath for breath upon the bank
Until the whip of night begins,
And then watch how you will forget
The blur of the lark, the rush between the flume.