by Norma Farber
In the arbor of my childhood,
green morning my roofage,
deep grapes like a midnight
sombered the leafage.
In the arbor where my childhood
afternooned and thirsted
for liquor lumpy fruitage
shadow-treated, dusk-frosted,
where clusterfall midnight
splashed the slatted arbor,
I ate gross purplings,
I drank vine-vapor.
In that arbor-calm childhood
I cut green capers
toward king-colored bunches,
to royal high purpose.
In a yard with an arbor,
those reap-ready seasons,
I sucked along of childhood
the wineshade essence.
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