Romanian skies of lazy clouds
And the buzz of a motorboat
Float on a breeze
Of cigarette charm
Poles stuck in sandy shores
Up to their reels
Line the river-
Centipede legs of some overturned giant
Stretching its head to
Sip from the Black Sea
Churches are the silos of souls
Which aproned women carry in buckets
To seed the sunflower fields
A basic American
With hunger pains
I have caste my line
And nothing bites