Tuesday, March 18, 2014

March 18th

-my beloved has gone down-

down to the tawny field,
the skies above a robin’s egg blue

he has gone down to gather bulrushes and
bunches of those silver tipped velvet willows
to place in wide mouthed clay jars
set on the stone beside the fountain
where the sky is caught in a net of ripples.

down to see if the south side of the hill is greening,
to see those brave faced dandelions
turning toward the sun.

down to the lilies,
finely woven, cool as river rock and smelling of rain.

I have seen him uncurling shy as fern under the bare boughs,
I have seen him passing over the sky in whitened shadows.

and there’ll be
damp footprints over the silvery stone,
the cotton towels shook out to dry.
lady bugs nestled in the windowsills and
lily pads floating in the fountain, some the
seat of solemn, round bellied frogs and
garlands of moss oak hung from the cypress rafters.