(for Andreas Gripp)
Ask a Cornelius a Ruth, say, if sea breezes forbid a god,
or not
to dance or be still!
The song, remixed often, is ancient and can enlarge on
the heart
(listen!) Every delectable
lip, eye, of even the gangster can perfume to the heavens
with it
A saint named the Cat
or Felicissimus can't have been a more delightful tribute
to sound,
or pockmarked virgin of snow
(whom I can't help feeling or enlarging on when I hear Kygo),
arms outstretched, near blind
or the catfish down in the deep end that sleep with martyrs
Deserts won't be still either
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