-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.
