Laudation

Of  all sights, a new moon. Of  all smells, bread. Of  all surfaces, skin.

Of  all sweet sounds, the mourning dove and the sleeping child.

Of  all my journeys, the shortcut from school through Buckley’s Glen.

Of  all other journeys, the Greyhound bus at night into Manhattan.

Of  cities, Jerusalem. Of  modes of  transport, the pony and car.

Of   the neglected virtues, shyness. Of   the celebrated, hospitality.

Of   the harmless vices ... the lie-in, the painted toe, the keepsake.

Of  solitary vices, the night out and a piss in moonlight.

Of   the social pastimes, gossip among cultivated friends.

Of   the cultivars, either the grape or the apple.

Of   the apples, the Wyken Pippin. Of  cults, the Eleusinian.

Of  all that delights the cultivated mind, letter-writing.

Of  all jokes, the one about the two thieves.

Of  practical jokes, the shoulder-tap (oldest and most cruel).

Of  all of  Job’s afflictions, maybe the boils.

Of   beverages, tea. Of  all that coarsens the palate, eating beef.

Of  ingenious devices, the search engine and the zipper.

Of  all that thrives among Satan’s noisome progeny, the rock drill and mosquito.

Of   the proofs of God’s love, the crow.

Of  all that testifies to the sway of evil, the white lie.

Of   the forgotten sins, calumny (which thrives).

Of   the erotic side-pleasures, the smile. And the text.

Of  rare and elusive flavors, sweet cicely and the chanterelle.

Of  domesticated creatures, the pig or goose.

Of  all times, the hour before sunrise. Of  all fears, the lump.

Of  all places, here and now. Of  sweet sounds to wake to, the mourning dove.