Here you are and
item: two iris reticulata,
one bud,
spearing up in purple leaps
each one
a knuckled trinity
of truth and faith and hopeful aspiration.
Not mine.
Item: an umbrella-ed apple tree
dripping with soft pink roses
sweet with the dew of innocence.
Not mine.
Item: the laugh of a hobbledehoy,
consuming and tender and kind.
Not mine.
Item: the look from two level grey eyes
that enter with delicate care
and entrancing humility.
Not mine.
Item: a mischief.
Item: a quiet.
Item: a saunter.
Item: a selfless prayer.
Not mine, not any mine.
Enshroud them, becover them,
lie of them, smother them,
strive to forget and yet
always remember them:
iris and apple
tree
laughter and
looking,
mischief and
quietness,
nondescript
saunter
and a prayer at
the end of them all.
Everything’s there, saving
item: you.
Not mine.
(June,
1971 or 72)
