Shadow and Light: The Transitory
The Solstice Calendar
--- Harry Northup
as in the root, a call to more creation.
these lovely things. arms, stretching,
and the story teller's mouth, ever open,
ever telling us. the sage to burn, to
be a natural
goodwill. empties artificial breath
and opens up the house: here come
our friends, in spirit-moves--that
solemn gardener; the widow armed with lemons;
a couple married
fifty years. blooms and ghosts.
and me, unconventionally grown, but whispering
love's arguments for fireplaces, chattering
little bells. bells for the unfamiliar, the story
meant to free us--isn't it absolutely love?
no, nothing all that simple. as herbs
fill with their own releasing smoke, there is,
too, this night-month and its power of unlit sky.
cold, some memories, and plenty of real regret:
you and I will die before we're married fifty years;
we found each other late. the sad fact
alive in every wrist, using up its beats.
love-star, make us grateful anyway.
make the new year shine its eyes right on our door,
and in the root or bulb, as in the tulips which
have promised to be red, the present strong emotion.
the sky breaks through to sun, uncautious sun
returning, glues us to this earth. goodwill:
good stories. the garden inching taller.