If I thought of you,
I only thought of something that endured,
that might endure...
A muscling light strains against
morning collapsing black to gray,
slowly the December star drains
to nourish the lily and tuber rose;
Ophelia's bones undrowned and bursting
into snow crocus and Nausicaa,
the ship burner, slips closer to shore
bearing heat to burn the sleety
sea. In rough bellsong, birds chime
the way home to still bare oaks,
Jesus alight on the sparrow's wing,
Apollo's horses lugging cruel April.