We left the world behind
and followed the poet through the rain
To hunker
in the concrete bunker beneath the vineyard
And watch Bill read
with water dripping off his hat

Rant
rain
romance
rising staccato
He forgets to breathe and so do we
Verses unwind
Well versed
the poet as prophet,
the unacknowledged legislator
of human experience

He reads the one about Frances
I remember it from a creative writing class
eight years ago
I was jealous of her then
Her immortal Troy, her ever-loving luck
The grace of Bill
spinning words around her

But now he says
they broke up, a few months later
And,
maybe that’s
the curse of poetry.