Your life shines
like a lemon
in leaves.
Your life speaks
commandments
through stone.
Your life stands
a sun dial
for puzzled souls.
Your life sings
a descant
to the planet's groan.
Your life
wrapped in sacking
pulses on.
Your life goes
where it goes
and has not gone:
A sweet-sour
birth-day
gift for you alone.
(For Diana Neutze on her 70th birthday, bitterly afflicted with MS and its complications, and still finding poetry in the garden.)
Monday, March 9, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment