Drop me down at your Tropic of Cancer
drop me forever in the fourth week of June
so that I may chin its mountain of vistas
pillage eternally its chambers spun deep
knot me everlasting in its vivid breast
where the spill of warmest water
rushes slushy streams
with wings of the dragonfly
spice from fervent fields
and grieve not for my southern hemisphere
its solstice will be brief
once your tropic juices swim over head
for there steep is ardent, their voice convivial
and I am more that ready to embrace your highest sun.
Copyright �2002 by Ken Adams. All rights reserved.
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