Who now remembers Cabavis

poet -

dying in some backstreet garret

untouched by beauty

or even her passing feet ?

His fleeting handkerchiefs of farewell

hid dead levantine mysteries

waving like flags in warm

Alexandrian breezes

freshened by the sudden chill

of dawns after love.

How deftly he recalled

long limbs relaxed without pattern

between covert glances,

swift tenderness of touch

behind tables in darkened bars.

Such small and pathetic goings on

are not enough for most of us to remember

creating the new world - this fleshless skeleton.