“Love” Poems For Kathy Number Thirty-Four


Placing these flowers here,

not one or two but three,

thrushed by a single song

they are simplicity.

Placing nothing here

the perfume is sickening faint.

You are towards that end

where the world is one with taint,

and I am the god that grows

a blackening buckle of tree,

but flowers are freshly placed

and they are simplicity,

and I am a turgid man,

my god is ingrown with taint;

I have picked him up from the dark

where a swoon of sweet lights faint,

but because my world is you

and because I cannot be

thrushed by a single song

through to simplicity,

and because my mind is feint

and I am the feint of you,

it is pointless now to hammer the wings

of a fluttering life that grew

out of the treasures in both of us

and you who are mingling me

in a dusk as tremulous for dawn

as a slave for liberty.

I have noticed the cloudy intercourse

of the flowery sky and the earthen tree

thrushed by formidable song

though never by ‘cere simplicity.

(from “”Love” Poems For Kathy / Green. Laced. Leaves”)

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Written by Jonathan Finch