To punish me, Adam has taken over the trees: Don't touch any this time. He lets the ripe fruit fall and dissolve in the grass. I envy those flies that just ride their wings into sweetness. What do I say? I wish I could return to the tree and turn away. I wish we could lie naked in a field . . .
I Love You
When April bends above me And finds me fast asleep, Dust need not keep the secret A live heart died to keep. When April tells the thrushes, The meadow-larks will know, And pipe the three words lightly To all the winds that blow. Above his roof the swallows, In notes like far-blown . . .