Salutation

Hello, singular herald of sorrow 
flickering above the basil field at dusk
verbena light glides like a discus on windswept waters
projecting grace onto your black and white underside 
as you soar arrow-straight 

Homebound
I outpace you effortlessly 
within the carriage
and, further, inside 
the inevitability of my regrets 
humming 
with gratitude for everything 
even the dew of the morning pillowcase
and the dirt under our nails.
 
I held hope to enter vis-à-vis reflected glances
but instead was given skies
longing for the sky above, restrained by their fall.
The puddles, ponds, rivulets and streams 
of this water nation that 
we did some great forgotten kindness to deserve.

O God, that thou givest this wonder unto us. 
Make clean our hearts
so we can see the glory
of the shadow of thy beloved dance
without shielding our eyes,
O God of waters.

La mort d'Hyacinthe, Jean Broc (1801)