May 2024
Bio Note: Flimsy things, these blossoms, yet what deepened thrill, what intoxicant, what fervor they provide. I can spend a day in the thrall of a lilac, and a night with the vision of a white dogwood in moonlight.
Apple Blossom Square Dance
Across the field of fork-raked furrows
in the gleaming furls of May moonlight
the dark pond of black soil reflected
I swam to the fragrance of apple blossoms
fleeing the women in white and green skirts
flowing to the fiddle, raising a fire
by tamping down desire with peg and sole hard to the floor.
Like white waterbirds the blossoms awaited,
eiderdown petals, plumage more silken than soft
perfumed forearms of women in flowering
white and green skirts flowing to the fiddle,
like eidolons of waterbirds the fluttering blossoms
as they fell. I remember the tow of those feathered waters,
my face enveloped in flowers and scents
searching for the firm shore of earth,
which the blossoms, like the mirage of women
in flowering white and green skirts,
moon-sprung and drifting, fragrantly denied.
Originally published in Kentucky Review
Camellias
The blossoms rust, do not live long,
fall with a thud to the deck.
A loose dog paces the neighborhood
unable to be caught or enticed.
One day, two days, then it vanishes
before the posters go limp.
The boy across the street dates
a different girl each week.
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