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Celia Meade

Apricots fermented in the gnarled orchard,
the wasps gorged and grew drunken and amatory.

You fled to water, slipped in a wooden boat
but there the wind blew, drunken and amatory.

Slid to the dock as the sunset spread apricot
he swayed, lost a shoe, drunken and amatory.

Stung by his flushed cheeks, his barefooted tragedy
you were smitten: you, drunken and amatory.

That was the night, Celia, you became lost to
the deepening blue, drunken and amatory.


Celia Meade (3)

This poem is a ghazal. John Thompson described ghazals, in his introduction to Stilt Jack, as "drunken and amatory."

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