Late salutations  .  .  .
Old autumn guests come and go,
  .  .  .  Still leaves on the porch.

Little birdlings in trees,
Children flailing round branches,
  .  .  .  Wings wanting to fly.

In mute fields of sun  .  .  .
Angels' wings hum from heaven,
  .  .  .  Flock of swans fly by.

Her eyes were cold sun,
Red hair shouts our love undone,
Maple leaves falling  .  .  .

My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

In cool light of heavy air,
The lovers worked at song,
Whittling the oak as it grew,
Wrapping time in knot, a gear
By the rounded dial of a snail,
Even the sun waltzed forgetful
And antique moon soon forgot
What it knew under wink of stars,
The field was all in hushed flame
As the new ant trails always were,
Saying in the grass that May, windy,
Is all we can know ever beneath trees
As they burst from breaking blue earth,
Will always, grasping, be this evergreen,
The lovers became here truly, new witness,
To themselves never more, but only this once,
Eternal, fresh, undivided, jewels of sun, divine.

Day flowers open  .  .  .
At night close into themselves,
  .  .  .  As my heart remains.

If I said I want you,
Would you run and tell the stars
To close their eyes and ring dry
The clouds of tears?

If I said let me hold you,
Would the earth crack open,
To shudder the rolling lands,
Not cradle the hatching seeds?

If I said I am yours,
Would your name soon dissolve
And be lost in the revolving
Night that candles you in light?

If I heard your voice,
In twining dream and woke
Beside you talking in your sleep
What would your question be?

If I called your name,
Before the first sunning year
And heard you, Echo in the wind,
Would time guide us to the door?

Little tawny buds  .  .  .
After winter spring sparkles,
  .  .  .  Freckles on her face.

Gnarled twigs, eyes of owl  .  .  .
Blood blooms from feather and fur,
  .  .  .  Flowers of the moon.

Dreams lost when waking,
Sea spray, tangled kelp wafting,
  .  .  .  Briny taste of her.