Wednesday, March 21, 2012

heathens

when god was not a word
more a sheaf of wheat or a chest
pressed against a chest,


divine with sweat



there were simple things


a long girl loved daffodils

she kept her hopes in bowls

i've heard-- been told--

a little bairn chased a pheasant 
into a nettle patch


cold water seizes the lungs 
truths like torques close 
'round the heart


i do not know what one does


only a rattling
seed-pod
which says
what's done 
is done
my love
what's done 
is done


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