Winter's dark days are disappearing.
It'll be nice to see the summer sun,
and cast off my cold winter coat,
the one I've worn against the weather,
simple, black, but unstained and unscathed.
Well worn, but well loved,
it'll hang and hide til winter's here,
and I'll miss it amid the warmer months.
I miss my days of bread and soup;
it's all I ate abroad,
too broke to buy much else at all,
I tried to eat my fill.
Not much to love, a cheaper soup,
with bits of corn and broth.
I mixed in chunks of stale baguette,
to keep the hunger down.
In all, it cost about a buck
and fed me half a day.
The rest I saved, and spent at last
on buses going south.
Away to Nice, or far off Rome,
in cities world-renowned,
I only ate that bread and soup
that fills me still today.
I hope you'll soon return back home
beside the fickle summer birds,
who come from sunny south.
You'll find your way again, I'm sure,
but winter's been unkind to me,
so I may just be gone.
Back home I have a garden where
I worked not long ago.
I painted it proudly with flowers,
filled it up with fruit.
Below its leafy blanket green,
its soil was soft and black.
The air was tinged the taste of mulch,
and smelled both fresh and moist.
I hid my heart among the roots
and left it with the worms.
But I’ve been gone, the greens have faded;
the ground's gone fallow:
the markers like makeshift stones,
the withered leaves - unburied bones.
My lovely little garden, you’re missed,
I’d like to love you once again.
But where will the wind take me next,
before I can find your dew-kissed dirt
beneath my nails?
I went to watch the choppy water,
to see the sun-kissed waves sing
and dance down around the rocks.
I heard the break of heavy billows,
and saw the dancing sunlight-dazzle
that jumped from crest to crashing crest.
the waves struck the sand, songlike,
a joyful, droning beat of drums,
loyally lapping along the shore.
time slipped and tumbled astray;
I let myself get lost. I stared
at the loving littoral come and go.
The sea laid on the sand like a lover;
as day at last set down to sleep,
and the white eye of night watched.
but then, the tide turned back;
the beach was left bare and bald,
and the stormy sea sailed away.
the dunes stood staring for dawn,
cold in the cutting winter wind,
lonely to look at, or so I thought.
The smell of rain, like after floods,
is heavy, crushing - oddly sweet.
It won't let go; it clings tight.
It draws from down below the soil,
where bones become as soft as silk,
and dredges up the raw taste.
It's putrid honey sticking fast
to every inch - my arms, my legs,
my back. My body's sweat-drenched.
It's earthly raw, its honey-sweet.
I'm crushed, consumed, but more alive.
I turn away, but then, I turn back.
I've swallowed fire whole; it burns
me inside out. My stomach's green.
I'm heaving, sick. I can't breathe.
you're like the cold blue ice that cleaved
the mountains and black-soiled valleys,
as unshifting in your march against me,
stood here, still and waiting, in awe.
your heart is well hidden and hard,
kissed by cold blue fire
without a hint of my raw red,
open like a flooding cut.
no hint of the valley's deep black,
waiting for fresh green growth.
you've got the airy mountain's austerity,
and its same stark-gray heights.
the summer heat has blown away.
the taste of spring has faded too.
the winds of fall run out ahead
and cut, like cold knives to the bone.
the breath of winter on my neck,
the little hairs that stand on end;
I'm frozen, watching trees get old;
the sea of green leaves turning red.
the glowing moon is hung above.
the stars are slipping down their tracks.
the gusts of wind undress the trees;
some weary leaves cling to a branch.
a summer-withered leaf remains,
alone among its fallen friends.
the weak connection slowly breaks,
its friendly face falls to the ground.
a flood of air, with diving birds,
who soar and swim, surrounds the tree.
the little shiply leaf lets go.
it sails the cloud-sea, and then sinks.