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The Field
He saw the bloom of morning on her arms
; Compounded of the butterfly-lifting light
And the translucent flourishes of bright
Woven on her flesh, the envelope of down.
Where they stood, the field was a cricket stillness
Looped with thorny vines where purple hung
And underleaves dampened the smell of the sun.
He knew they were part of that wilderness.
What hope, though impulse gathered like a fist
For purpose blind of plan? The knowledge was his,
Her eyes being untaught, her frightened dress
Omphalos to omphalos tight on her stopped breast.
Ignorance admonished him with social eyes
More dangerous than the prone advance of Crotalus;
Confused within a whirl of ice and gold
He stooped to the ungathered dewberries.