After vermillion curlicues
                                         at dusk above the Alps, the span of
sky's all spick and glitter
                                         over spätzle mit speck at the gasthaus
in Garmisch, while on the steep
                                         black slopes surrounding
town, bonfires in the shape
                                         of stag heads, crosses, crowns,
and hearts burn constellations
                                         through the night. The word spätzle
is thought to come
                                         from the fact that the dumplings
look like small, plump
                                         sparrows, spatzen, which were responsible,
according to Sappho, for pulling
                                         Aphrodite's chariot. Greeks and Romans
told the same stories, invoked
                                         the same gods, changed only
the names to protect
                                         the innocent. Although God keeps
his eye on them, by late
                                         December, the white moons
of the pussy willow rise
                                         from their cup of shellac into the open
beak of a sparrow: find a verb
                                         to lacquer that, find out
what the lilac wants
                                         whose branches hold the cardinal
in his black mask, riding
                                         bareback into winter. Late harvest
wine from grapes picked fully
                                         ripe is called spätlese: better late
than never and whatever rhymes
                                         with that. Lace: to assail or attack, related
to lacere, to allure. See delight. To intertwine,
                                         to add liquor to a beverage. Dietrich sings
See what the boys in the backroom
                                         will have, and give them the poison
they name. In Fellini's Intervista, Anita Ekberg
                                         and Marcello Mastroianni watch the light
flashing in darkness, watch
                                         their young bodies wading black
and white in La Dolce Vita:
                                         he lifts her and asks, Who
are you, a goddess? She turns
                                         in the Trevi fountain, and the water
slipping over her body like
                                         a caul bursts into a spray of buds
flung from her hips, bare
                                         shoulders, lips in what the Kamasutra calls
the sparrow's flutter. Some say spätzle comes
                                         from the Italian spezzare, to break
into pieces.