.
I met the thieving miss magpie, la numero 123
in the small trees
in the deep garden of summer;
after her blind nosedive,
she then flew way up high.
For some obscure reason she took
a fancy to my ankle and brushed against it with
her chin;
a lady merchant with black inventive eyes,
I thought her a beauty,
truly outstanding in her impossible humanity.
Like Saint Frances of Assisi, we had ourselves a
nice chat, exchanged a load of secrets, her in
her black and blue dress, me in
my usual Moschino jeans.
