On my stroll home’s
when I found you here.
I’ve only seen the like in Eden Dreams
of Mother Eve—frozen
in a moment; hushed together,
the canary-yellow leaves drooping
like eye lids. I’ll wager tis a seasonal sedative.
Ms. Alice, I presume. I am in wonder—
or am I in Switzer—? Well—what ever
Land this is, I am happy to wander
how can there be
a mountain so still—so tranquil,
where not even a willow whispers?
It seems the whole world’s
caught between breaths, before
the approaching Fall
settles in her autumn doormat. What providence
to stumble across this cobble stone path,
leading me to you reclined on thy side.
M’lady, what color are your eyes?
Are they the shade of your fig-green
apron? Bent limbs uncovered
to a serpent’s Chesher smiles
and Jupiter’s bloodshot hurricane eye.
How can he and Venus tumble across the sky
in courting scuffles, leave you here— without a thought;
like when we breathe one moment,
then in the next—forgot?
From this angle your hip’s soft summit,
slumping snowy shoulder, and pillowed crown.
Sunbeam hair waterfalls over
your folded arms, as if in prayer.
to that rugged, rocky mountain temple
behind you. Both you and that, permanent
sanctuary garlanded in green and topped snowy white.
Left alone, under this apple-tree
still life, it appears movement is forbidden—
motion rooted, or paused. Knowledge,
that one day we all close our eyes for good.
Or do you choose to close your eyes to evil
Winter’s chill approaching? M’lady I’ll let you rest in peace.
Forgive me, I must continue on, before
the spell is broken. When you awake
please accept this still life, in words,
of you. Napping here, one Autumn
afternoon, beneath the motionless
limbs of stock-still leaves.