harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
i did preserve the garden walls their granite roses, the red blooms of their doses — cool ice pink lemonade and my hades mouth over you. ribboned laughter all in the golden afternoon of years and one plum purple decade ago. i remember the dappled flesh of birthmarked skin, trees and apples: the sun shining on a horse's clouded coat. i remember the sisterly sleeping shoulders; wasps in the orchard and knee dents in the first hay cut: my mouth red up on the cherry picker — your fingers licked clean. it was years — one purple plum decayed years ago, on the gravel by the sandpit, wasps and wishes and bruised storms in the sky.
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