I see only sky as it disappears the birds—
you say they’re sparrows, you say maybe wrens,
and I think beauty never minds the almond blossoms
that have already undressed the branches
that have already undressed the branches
and lie rumpled in the orchard.
And when we head into the meadow
through ancient oaks, I walk into the long blue grass
through ancient oaks, I walk into the long blue grass
trying not to say it—beautiful,
though it is,
though it is,
though I’m trying to believe I can sense the river
when I can’t,
when I can’t,
when the thicket and border and bramble
complicate the lateness of the hour.
complicate the lateness of the hour.
You know the way
but have let me wander as far as I need
down deer trails past coyote tracks.
down deer trails past coyote tracks.
And when we stop to listen, you understand
the meadowlarks’ song
the meadowlarks’ song
marks where their yellow breasts
necklaced in a black V
necklaced in a black V
have disappeared
into the darkness of me.
Hard to call beauty an affliction, but I think it is
Hard to call beauty an affliction, but I think it is
what makes my blindness hurt.
You take my arm, lead us along the river’s trail,
You take my arm, lead us along the river’s trail,
the muscular going of water under a waning moon—
not disappeared, but yes, beauty
not disappeared, but yes, beauty
as a curse, that it must be carried like this
now, fainter,
now, fainter,
slivered smaller than it was last night.