Angular Self-Portrait With Hayley Mills

I dream I’m making love to Hayley Mills
while peasants question from windowsills
and then go back to being poor.

There’s not much the police can do,
and the priests can only misconstrue
what they have learned well by mistake.

From sundown to sunup
love pitches his tent in a cup
which once belonged to William Butler Yeats.

I dream I’m making love to Hayley Mills
in the ancient, angry Mexican hills
where her thighs quiver on Aztec stone.