Swan Song (for D.L.R.)
Emerald fronds are glinting
in the opalescent night
and a poignant masque is playing
in the stunning lunar light.
Wispy spirits of the dead,
in endless agony, are watching,
in their loneliness, are staring,
a fawn, all unaware,
in natural innocence is gazing,
as I burn and burst and blossom
in the arbor of, the ardor of your arms.
For my Deborah, the woman I married soon after writing this poem.
Port of Call and other poems. The Caliban Press, Baltimore, Maryland. 1975.
Magnapoets August 2006.