Legend of The Love-Talker

Another Folk Poem

Lady, come over the ivory field
Clad in cream linen and milkweed down
Wait for me under the Cottonwood Trees
Cradling your arms, the white in the brown

I’ll come dance the dance of the flame-lipped lizard
Salamandral, beasts’ own wizard,
I’ll dance so solemn your face will bring flying
Wind River, switches of air that come prying –

The down of your sleeves will all float apart
Whirling around the tree and your heart
Nothing there will be only one thing:
But arms be a cradle, the voiceless sing:

Milkweed down, in the treble voice
Each wisp with a whittling whistle rejoice
Ravens, too, who cannot sing at all
Will be themselves notes and the notes will fall

Glittering spill-spray from bankments on high
Banked up clouds in the Sun-Lord’s sky
Notes will be cherried and shivered and sharp
Halfway between the viol and harp.

Nor will the colors be colors alone
Colors are wind and wind is a moan
A moan is the sight of oceans that hover
Beneath the hung breast of the lord’s dimmer lover

There fore, O Lady, the fields await you
Leave the brothers that love and that hate you
Leave for my hope all love of food,
Hope of warmth, fear of the lewd;

Go if you hope that I will soon come
Cross your arms and flee from your home
Leave for the alien all that you know
In ivory fields go,  kneel in the snow

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