We cannot Pale
In all things we are the leaves
First hiding in the sleeves of spring
Unborn until the sun splits the membranes
Of childhood and the harsh ribbed bursting
Has been accomplished, truths no longer vagrant
All is radiant and replete
But then we notice –
The receptacles hold rain on the glacous fibre
The green seems gratuitous and dizzying
In such desired light.
It is then we long for the winter when we slept
The awakening still in our voices
Whispering in the evenings of early moon
The longing so plaintive and lambent
More potent than the unveiling
When the dim paths suggested so much
Complete unto themselves, after all…
When the owls admonished us in the frosty twilight
My pearl earring fell as you brushed my ear
Hand on my heart, a deer barked out!
A tattoo of your name on my tongue.
Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights Reserved