“Poem” by James Schuyler

Your enchantment
enchains me, stretched
out there, planked
like a steak or
a shad in season.
And there, where
you flower there.
You’re cool to my
touch, soon growing
warm, smooth but not
sleek. I love you––
too much? Not quite
possible. The thought
of harm from you is
far from me as those
Vermont hills, en-
flamed, in October,
as I by you, in their
seasonal rush. To
go up in leaves! I
wish I could, as I
sink down beside you.

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