To climb these stairs again, bearing a tray, Might be to find you pillowed with your books, Your inventories listing gowns and frocks As if preparing for a holiday. Or, turning from the landing, I might find My presence watched through your kaleidoscope, A symmetry of husbands, each redesigned In lovely forms of foresight, prayer and hope. I climb...Learn More

A room, unutterably feminine, A room she dreamed, but painted by Gwen John - I see a white-distempered attic in Her mind, pastel, and faintly put-upon By men, who cannot understand the light From the window, lingering on the lace Curtain's folds, or the disturbing woman-white Illumination on the mirror, almost a face. A girl is sitting on a fragile...Learn More

Beneath my feet, bones of a little bird Snap in a twig-flutter. A hundred wings Adore its memory, and it is heard In the archival choirs now where it sings. Ewes nurse their lamb-flock on an upland field. Late gambols in the last kick of the sun As I scoop dirt on a hand's weight, briefly held, A cradled cup of feathered, egg-shelled...Learn More