Along the Kentucky River on first May;
You strode tall, I stumbled, over roots
of old oaks that ridged across our rough path:
bright in new leafy growth,
...
One Autumn in Colorado, the leaves
meleed reds and burnt oranges to such extent
that a whimsy struck me about how other states would envy
if they could see these riots; how they'd grieve
...
A trickle of music
down the hall from my flat
floats slender fragments of sound--
Harmonis leaves glide down
...
Kentucky Mayday
Along the Kentucky River on first May;
You strode tall, I stumbled, over roots
of old oaks that ridged across our rough path:
bright in new leafy growth,
Nature's cynics giggled, girdled, showing their ages
in deep rings and dingy bark.
Then ritual cries of Isis rose up in me
and I boldly wished to kiss you
beside a cold brook
where willow trees stuck long-fingered,
delicately-nailed branches into very springs
of rivers under granite; Oh! how hard the memory lingers
of that freezing, rushing passion
gushing out of dark caves in sheer gray rock.
She wrote a lot of good stuff.