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Driven through by her own sword |
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Summer died last night, alone. |
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Even the ghosts huddle up for warmth. |
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Autumn has come to my hometown |
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Friendly voices, dead and gone, |
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singing, Star of the country down... |
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(even the ghosts help raise the barn, |
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here, now, in my hometown) |
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-when, out of the massing |
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that bodes and bides, in the cold west, |
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flew a waxwing, who froze |
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and died against my breast! |
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And all the while, rain, |
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like a weed in the tide, |
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swans and lists, |
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down on the gossiping lawn, |
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saying, 'tsk, tsk, tsk'. |
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I may have changed. It's hard to gauge. |
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Time won't account for how I've aged. |
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Would I could tie your lying tongue, |
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who says that leaving keeps you young. |
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I have got no control |
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over my heart, over my mind. |
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Over the hills, the rainclouds roll. |
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I'll winter here, wait for a sign. |
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To cast myself out, over the water, |
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riven like a wishbone. |
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You'd hardly guess |
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I was my own mother's daughter; |
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I ain't naturally given to roam. |
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I lay low, when I return, |
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and I move like a gurney |
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whose wheels are squeaking, |
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alone, here in my home, |
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and I laugh, when you speak of my pleasure-seeking |
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among the tall pines, |
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along the lay-lines. |
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Here, where the loon keens. |
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There, where the moon leans. |
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There, where I know my violent love lays down, |
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in a row of silent, dove-gray days. |
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Here, in a row of silent, dove-gray days. |
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Wherever I go, I am snowbound |
|
by thoughts of him whom I would sun. |
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I loved them all, one by one. |
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Cannot gain ground, cannot outrun; |
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but time marches along. |
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You can't always stick around. |
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But, when the final count is done, |
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I will be in my hometown. |
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I will be in my hometown. |
