I saw it that way from the couch—
the many-masted ship of ivy in the bottle of the world
with sprays of laurel rising behind—
as we argued the message of luck come to me,
for fortune had tost, this time, her waves my way.
Jealousy overwhelmed your staunchness,
then you overcounted the bounty.
And I, in pride of my quickness,
heaved the lead
and cried the soundings just ahead.
This extravagant season will unbound the wandering ivy.
A Jacko’all is on his way to cut the shrubs back and deft.
While we, knowing mainly one thing between us,
have already submerged luck’s call to me and won’t speak
though we storm about the known and unknowing world—
ere acrimony end.