In splutters of moonlight I mutter against
old lardy truths, moonfaced, marefaced, owlfaced--

though something about me irritates you courtiers,
my not-this-not-that--
so you laugh to see my possum-perfect little toes,

my knobby knees parsley green in tights.

My wife is a nannygoat guided by knees
and not by harness.
She has the look of one who does not know the secret--
that same look on your face.

Saliva flowers like surf
in the corners of her mouth.
Stupidity splays a fat hand across her forehead.

Yet, the deep simplicity,
the smell of ripening grapes--

and coalsoft her disrobing, caught in the draft
of this great nave. Soon
we will live deep in the earth

where the green rat howls--
but I will keep you deep in my heart, O

milords, miladies.