there are arms and legs

there are arms and legs behind the counter
who dares to say today what became of the torso
the left eye was sinking behind
cascades of miracle life

sometimes I wonder
under the young apricot tree in his
gustav of a backyard

how come reactionaries in the dead of winter
enjoy the basking of the sun

when did he ever become entangled
in such a glamorous web of tangerines?

here lies the answer
in my hands
in my hyperactive exultation
in the questioning look of
tender and complicated youth.