, , ,

summer song

Maybe we all are damaged wood
I myself am a woodwind
Empty wood waiting for a gust of air
Or a memory
Sweet meadow

Oh! Sweet meadow; sweet hill;
sweet hayloft
Sweet nubile seductress… oh, sweet honey skin
Tears of ecstacy watered the stacks of hay
On which they two lay entangled, assuaged

Ah alas, how we choose the body
Before the spirit, her warm skin in bloom
The noble boy has lost his mind
The sweet fullness of sudden desire

But the demure one, the quiet one
Who reached out her hand to his
And locking hands together they climbed the hill
Behind the farm
Not a word was spoken
The first hour of meeting; not one word
Just smiles, not a kiss
But the softest hand he’s ever held

A smaller world below, forgotten
Only the clouds of dusk
And now a subtle joy
And children running on the lawn
So small
So distant
I_ArtMan april 30, 2008