— St. Louis University, 1967

I guess you could’ve called it a new kind of art project

back before there was any such thing as conceptual or performance art

the two of us lying on the grass in the middle of the quad

me leaning over her

like a tree that trails its branches in a stream

inhaling like an opium eater who savors each curve and curtsy of smoke 

and she beneath me, drinking it in

like a desert plant who knows the rain

may not come again

neither of us beautiful but beautifully absorbed

until a shadow broke across our day

a white-haired Jesuit demanding

“Where do you think you are?”

sweating like a candle as he told us

“You should be ashamed of yourselves”

calling us back to what we had abandoned

in our rush to be together

What did he know of our hunger

the exquisite prickle of cut grass

Drunken, I raised my head to the beauty in his cruel blue eyes

So we left, driven from the garden

He would never lose his anger

while our love would soon be gone