Ferns
Wind thrums
these green harps
into sudden music
low under the trees
almost beneath
our notice
though cut
at the stem
they could fan
the likes of Cleopatra
into lazy
concupiscence.
Cycle
1. Dawn
Like an infant’s head
crowning,
the sun
emerges—round
and rosy–
out of the sea.
2. Midday
We go together
like the two
hands
of a clock
about to achieve
noon.
3. Dusk
Why are there
searchlights
in the garden?
Those are
the chrysanthemums
you say.
