Elaine feinstein

We parked Citroen at the corner of the ridge,

Because you want to pick a blue rosemary.

Take it home; You bend over,

The coat is twisted open. Any stranger

I can see your weak shoulders and sick face.

Exposing the Skin —— Our Holiday in Luberon

Eventually infected with salmonella—

But what makes me sad is that when you choose slowly,

The elegance of your posture:

That curious child is full of love.

Flowers and moss, still longing,

Under the disguise of your father.