Sunday, January 31, 2010

in brief May, the dogwood in New England





along the water gap
the Delaware cuts high cliffs,
carving an oasis

long drive home from Maine through Connecticut in spring the dogwood bloom
at dusk ghosts sheet up hillsides still only half-hidden with new greens
lichen-crawled half-crumbled stone fences built by the dead brake their fall
white flower-fans shimmer in cool updrafts skating the settled valley
places where old oaks have split outcropped granite veins to sway
her echoed rage, his ghost, their stilled singing along the rain-slotted cliff
thread boxed waterfalls stitch vertical joints to splash children in square tubs
sway branches full of white flowers sketching hello to the dusk the dead

in late sun amber white on green dark green bright white splash of greengold center
for a week a day an hour the dead darkened hills covered with memories of spring







in memoriam Robert F. Olsen, d. 15 October 2009

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