In the Springing of the Year

In great, gray waves
of days, in dull swell
and ebb of wind days
and lee days, stretched
the Summer, on and on.

In nights filled
with spilling over
from the gates
of ivory and horn,
mid-nights keened
and teeming,
heavy with dew,
this humid season
bore its fruit
without you.

Welcome, then
slow smokeless burning,
untiring turning
of the Axis of the Year:
she was never mine to hold
who my heart held dear.

So come, bold Lion!
Rise, Sky-Maiden!
Stir dull roots
and branches lade
with blossoms new.

I sing bright petals
for her garden
in the Springing of the Year.

15 February, 2010
The Garden

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