love friendship poem

somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
if i should die, think only this of me
glooms of the live-oaks
stir
rocked in the cradle of the deep
since i have felt the sense of death
good woman
she might have known it in the earlier spring
see, from this counterfeit of him
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
tripping up, falling down
and how could you dream of meeting
give me hunger