In Dedication to
~John Lewis~
'Brewer at Richmond'
and
Humiliator of Aristocrats
Apart from the deer, the drivers and diners
In a grove that plateaus to a covered cove, quiet vista'd
Summers I sat, the mildest of blisters
Being just that.
O high in all ways then I
Fiddled with words through the stages of the sun, won
Synecdoches to the soul's plenum—
Yea cares kept none.
—Yet still I knew that that perfect biome
Was all too partial. . . oft as I wandered home
Buoyed only by buddhist blandishments, I felt other minds
Encincture my mind;
Knew that this world was the world of many, that much of that folk
Still laboured under my indirect yoke,
Strained to sustain my imperial dividend, now more than ever
Skirt in moral weakness.
2023-2024