Poem IX: Holly Healing

I have a steady, heady lust for light.
I breathe (what time of day
the light goes gray)
sharp sheen of coming night,
drink the hard bleached brilliance
in which the late-night shoppers swim,
and chase those glows that kindle, dim,
through Juney velvet fields, their bobbing dance.

Wild for moon, I will
wait in a wintry midnight, till
strange silver spills down white
bare trees. O languid light!

And laughing light! in Summer plays
caprice upon the rocking lakes –
an early gray glints toward red;
glows moreover into gold
that gilds a wavelet’s gliding bed;
gloats on, overbold,
the shimmering love of dragonflies and drakes;

then through our bed-side window breaks;
fills the ivory cup a brown throat makes,
anoints the sleeping wealth I hold,
tangling with his bronze-curled, christly head –

Oh, now I know that I shall gaze in latter days
upon That Light from which, a torched flower,
our sun outwent:

then, at last, shall I bow down to rise again
and stand, myself enblazed, and look, how long
– and lust content –

Back to Holly Brightweed

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