Lyric III
you feral flower
whose honeyed voice found me,
hue-called and beckoning living air,
in my own day of blossom
Lyric V
who beckons from your god-pathed sky? whose oak's slow splay of black lightning sky-whirled branches holding up a world? who will be warmed by this fire you tend hidden bare flame that is naked gods? who saturates your sunset? this earth must be loved for it to ripen us our skin taught with the outwardness of our wishes whose fingers through your pale fields and living streams lips to every wet petal of your red poppies every rush and wind’s caress of your voice every gasp taken in sun’s light made soft touch? who shall tread with you in sun’s steps?
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