Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Private Religion Valentine

On the day Jack
Gilbert died which
was just yesterday
and will always seem
like just yesterday
I finally get around
in my dotage it
happens to reading
the visionary poems
of Bunny Lang
on the high say-so
of Frank O’Hara
that first great
negro poet among
the black poets
of Martinique
who still smoked
and drank heavily
and Bunny laughed
when she caught
Jack walking over
the water toward her
all three born within
a year or two of one
another and within
a few brief marvelous
miles now gone

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