Late Spring Poem
Lying with my face in clover
red as your tongue,
I'm remembering a river
underground
in my thirteenth year,
and the basket a girl made
of green bur
for a wild
flower game.
Tl resurrect
that boy to Maytime
clover you've picked,
he will spring
spring.
EVE
Lean,
love,
keen
of
touch
on
flesh,
bone,
blood:
plant
seed.
Want.
Or
spare.
Structure
29 lines · 3 stanzas