Sunday, April 11, 2010

Where the woman sleeps


Aperio II

Veins of lupin carry the field,
stream in lavender veils through
a drying heart to bear it gold.

Rock calves and suspends midair, the
island borne by a trick of light out on
the channel where the woman sleeps.

Wintergrass sips what spring rain
pours now in sun, the cheep of quail
scattering seed beneath tasseled forage.


Two oaks, nearly still, herd grazing
wind along a trace of branch where
the red hawk sat her watch for an hour.

Another spring, is all. Another spring.
We do well to keep company with red
sisters who would call us out to sit.

Joseph Gallo
April 6, 2010



Blogger Kyle parried...

A fine piece, Joseph. I took a trip northward last weekend, and thought of this poem, seeing the hillsides and wild spaces of the SJ Valley dusted with lupins.

April 16, 2010 1:27 PM  
Blogger Kyle parried...

No, it wasn't this poem. You hadn't posted it yet. I read something with lupins! :-)

April 16, 2010 1:29 PM  
Blogger Joseph Gallo parried...

Not sure which poem you are referring to if it isn't this one.
Can't recall another poem with lupins in it, but I sometimes survive personal poemquakes in which many pieces are hurriedly rendered in frantic waves of radiating profundity.

Or something like that.

April 16, 2010 8:33 PM  

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