Aug 312011
 

It's been a well-worn
Year since my iris has gone
Whose dark-headed heightened grace
Had tripleted heart's pace
And made the threatening waters
Irradiate the lighter
For her being something darker.
She brought her blue-black laughter
Like an aftereffect of thunder
When lightning rare as wonder
Makes a landscape dark as murder
By its too-much light, and, lighter,
Touches earth and sky together.
Now the garden, disused and mossed,
Grieves green, and I am lost
As rain that runs away,
As a thought that will not stay,
Or childhood song that refuses to play.
My iris in her wonted place,
Sensed through broken mist and lace,
In tree-shadows lifts her face.--
I see her here returned,
Nor may I this wish unlearn
As long as dew in dawn's-light burns;
Every shady curl of worth
That my flower had leased from earth
In sable richness reappears,
Full of rampant ribbon-shapes,
Taking all of root and stalk
To reach to light, and, silent, talk.


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