Going


Lift the heavens’ paper screens

When I turn my head

And let the bands of day presage

Roads running blue to red

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Faerie lost


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I saw your footprints in the moss

Then, but now no longer

Trailing in the brook, ‘cross sunning rock

Then, but now no longer

What canopy could smell as fine

As night clouds through the trees

What bed the moss’ rival

What halls like trackless leaves

We touched hands once below the cliff

That turned the merlin’s head

And I followed you into gullies

Where time rode water’s wend

I saw you perched upon the moss

Then, but now no longer

And loved your naked, dirtied soles

Then, but now no longer

The Camp Years


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I slept sleeps in keeping with the thought

That we simply walked two different paths

Rains and autumns unto years through which

You smiled into other faces from farther parts

Forgetting each time the leaves turned again

~

I let that red string lie and yet it had gone

Anchored by imaginings groundless

But for the one thing I never guessed

Even though anything could have been

After I left you

*

Image of the Kettle Valley Trail

The Jade Peony

 

The First and Last (Farlien’s Meeting Place)


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I could have gone on the ether

I could have kissed the hems

Of the cloud-clad gifts of Demeter

Of the jewels in the rocks and the fens

I had no seated bounds

No traces wound ‘round 

Naked lips, wrists, fingers and ankles

My neck I wore white

And clean as the new light

That broke on the spears of the mountains

I knew the birds’ hum

And the sybilline thrum

Of the woods and the heather mist rising

I looked no farther away

Than the next dawning day

‘Til I found the first and last treasure

I could have gone on the ether

I could have raised the land

With every step after Demeter

With every note sung a command

But I found the green by the water

I found flowers born of the eye

I found the words never before uttered

And here I am happy to lie

*

This poem started with a mondegreene from “Moonlit”, by Villages

Image from Tolkien Gateway

After tea


What a bitter day is ending

And hardly to be borne

The hours paved with nettles

Though I knew not what for

 

For you no longer want me, friend

This I now plainly see

Departing in your glass caravan

That you once had of me

 

How hard and strange it would seem

Had we that golden bowl of trust

Piled with fruits of the first water

Budded and grown between us

 

But I confess that this we never had

And with sunset, I begin to see

That I had tired of your intemperance

Before you tired of me