I Have Tasted Mangoes

I have tasted mangoes that cling Their sweetness to my tongue. I have seen the white heron's wing Beating the air like a lung. I have ate custard apples spiced With heaven's honey. And cooler than The dew-drenched Otaheite enticed A boy's fancy, sweet rivers ran Their insect strewn fingers through The deep curves of the land. O juicy, Delicious moments! The cue Was the canary singing its prose In naseberry trees. I hear it still, And the flattery of my my nose Is not real. Dudley, Ver, Boysie will Not be playing in the yard. The white Thatch that weaves the baskets soul, The moon rising and turning gold Are memories of a long distant night.