Until the Full Moon Has Its Say

Villanelle for Marion

4 Villanelle for Marion My glass was empty then. Barmaid, lift the spigot, let it run. Still empty. Then a dark-haired one found me under some banyan tree, imagining love, alone. My glass was empty then. She knew the January sky, and June, had a touch to nudge the season— empty, full. I’ll take the dark-haired one. She knew the streets of Paris, London, hitchhiked south along the Seine, finding no glass empty then. We cooked up lunch in Madison, two-handled bowl of bluefin, noodles, peas—a savory one to feed the co-op. Found a path down to Lake Mendota, spring rain, swamp grass, no glass empty then— dipper full, the spring, a dark-haired one. ...