Post-solstice sunlight diving deep
in glowing leaves and fronds and blades,
mandarins and lemons quietly ripening,
jet plane growling sulky on its trades.
Gossamer threads a silky glinter,
flexing lazily in easy breeze;
comfort-rocking hips of drying towel;
magpies flute a bugle tune, accordion squeeze.
All seems to chorus or to jig-saw fit
grand illusions of continuities:
detail sparkles in darting fovea -
rest of 360, vegetative ease.
At three am we open wide our eyes,
heart falters and a gasped breath sighs.
.....................
This from 1976
A Naiad Muses on Icarus
Light twine on the night river -
full moon in
gust-dancing wavelets –
a silk touch of the shivering wind.
My life is haunted by the fate of Icarus,
spiraling to the sea.
I saw him on that clear day –
sun dazzling estuary waves –
far out, from cloud banks, light on gold wings
flashing as he fell.
Winds through these streets
drive fire cascades of copper beech;
skeletons of plane leaves scrape pavements;
they glide among morning fumes.
In the high air
tiny spiders ride
on their rope trick above clouds.
If we were there,
on silk in the golden wind...
...............
YOU ARE READING
Bridging
PoetryPoetry. Each new poem with the bonus of a much older poem from relative youth, bridging time, in a way.
