by Larry Hammer
for Greer Gilman When gall the spirits still from tender love plucked strait, your crack-mazed cup completely fill for one taste sweetens fate. When honey they draw out from air and darkness whole, accept their pot with its cracked spout — it sours the bitter soul. But pot and cup take one and never surfeit more — that aftertaste of liquor gone must last till hair is hoar.
Larry Hammer lives in the sunny desert of southern Arizona, where the bees make interesting honeys. He recently published a collection of translations of Japanese poetry, One Hundred People, One Poem Each. The word "cherry" makes him think of Campion's "Cherry-Ripe."
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