Anniversary — turning the year

This year’s poplar leaves are falling,

and today the northwest wind

hastens them along.

One leaf  heaves and jerks

at the end of a bare branch.

It will, of course, yield to the wind’s erratic breath,

or the inevitability of its little weight

but perhaps not  today.

 All timing is so chancy.

 You felt that little off-beat in your heart

almost all your life,

that little valve fluttering hopelessly,

 as you went to ground.

 And this dark wet windy fall,

I wanted to plant spring bulbs

where they planted you

 in that glorious autumn

we all remarked on last year.

 I wanted snowdrops to come

all green and white

 next spring

out of the earth which is cherishing you.

 But the time between desire and action

was too long:

I found there were no snowdrops left on the

shelves to buy.

 

And my heart’s timing, like yours, was off again.

October 15, 2011

Poem: Equinox 2010

Equinox  2010 

At midnight at the edge of the deck,

the long flappy leaves of the canna lilies

tumble and bow and nudge one another

in the night wind and the moonlight.

Above them,

the poplars  overlooking the garden

stand ready to net  the full moon in their  leaves

or permit her  passage  through their branches.

But instead, Jupiter escorts the full moon

across the equinoxial sky

above them all.

As the sun rises for hours on her full shining face,

she describes a long arc across the clear night sky,

unaware of  her harvest light,

of the boys and girls come out to play,

deaf to their whoops and calls.

In the magnificent motion of the heavens,

she slides across and away,

captured by a necessity of movement,

which Newton termed gravity and Dante, love.

Lorna Harris

September 26, 2010