Fine Rosettes of Lime

Kushajim on honey pudding
And rosy asparagus spears
Is like Dante on Beatrice,
Or Tao Yuanming on country wine—

It’s vivid, even if you can’t
Quite feel those hungers for yourself.
Poets never quit rummaging
For the language that will engage

Anyone encountering it,
The way fly-tied hooks engage fish.
Sometimes you’re not the fish in mind.
The fly isn’t your kind of fly.

You can only appreciate
How well-tied, how crafty, how bright,
Which means you haven’t really read,
Only let your mind’s eye slide by,

If you don’t have an aching jaw,
If you haven’t swum away scarred.