Garden Solstice
In a glint of needle light, of grass seeds, dew flecks, a friend is throwing her voice
While far inside a grainy heaven a butcher's apron ripples its dried blood in the wind.
The bark strippings, excelsior, the panicles of the garden.
In the midst of summer a friend cuts greens and places them in a bowl as if they were fronds.
A friend is a vinegar - and now, pearl-shaped, in clusters, faces among her face,
A globes rise on the lawn, each above a root of recriminations."
~The Antioch Review,
Jun 1, 1996.
love those poems esp The Sun Fades. |
