Summer Solstice

7

The poplar in the little orchard

its breath counts your hours

day and night;

clepsydra filled by the sky

.n the moonlight’s strength its leaves

create black footprints on the white wall.

Along the border a few pine trees and

then marble and beams of light

and people the way people are created.

Yet the blackbird sings

as it comes to drink

and sometimes you hear the voice of a pigeon.

In the little orchard just ten yards

you can see the light of the sun falling on two red carnations

on an olive tree and a bit on the honeysuckle.

Accept who you are. Don’t

drown the poem in the deep plane trees

nourish it with the soil and the rock you have.

The rest of them—dig in the same place and

you may find them.

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Stop

The reflection of dusk slowed over the seashore;

a dark boat, the silent fisherman, two cats of the café;

the shadow that takes the place of things; a Thursday,

a Friday, loneliness;

Saturday is defined by the same repetition.

The anchor fell at the edge of the quay noiselessly

and with a wide gesture as if to stop the stopped.

The reflection of the sea flashed for the last

time on the ring of the old woman.

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Three Poems About Sorrow

III

People with age resemble stones

less sculptured

more and more of faded color.

Passing by among them

I get emotional as long as

I can help finish my day.

I pass, I hardly touch anything;

only the birds get startled

by the movement and

fly away to the blue.

I survive in compassion

dreams give me shivers

I feel numb.

And all my plans

turn into reality

what little choice I have

when I think of all

the shapes spring takes

all the possibilities of my birth

with little imagination!  

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