I have seen Sandro's
fingers locked and bent
and Filippino's, and though no art
historian I could be your friend,
one to lock and bend
my fingers round
the angels' plastered
on your blindèd wall. am not
regretful am epinicial the rock
in the song of the name in your
name in black and white your
lips impressed to kiss the form for
the name of pure drags
out in a verse of Pindar whose
meter's not to guess and whose cæsura
could be there where you least expected:
in your forename in the clear
in your last name
learnt and leaned
in a rock
learnt and leaned
on a rock