Friday, January 10, 2014

golden plover

Fastened in my metal cage,
I glide above the pebbled path.
Grinding, humming, rattling,
Rare ore surrounds me.
Melted sand has forgotten the shore;
Through its lens I glimpse the sea mist.

There, where cotton grass clings to the silt,
High-stepping, the golden plover dances for its mate.
How do I know this?
Once, as a small girl, I followed my stick boat
On its way down a stream.
A shore bird and I nearly collided.
My hand groped and I felt its pulse
Quicken as mine does now.

Ashamed, I let it go at once.
Twig-like tracks in the sand
Must lead to a nest in the grasses.
The aroma of crushed ferns
should flavor the sun-dappled breeze.

Oh, free me from this clattering contraption!
Fly away with me
To where the spanish moss waves,
And the ash tree trembles,
Where fresh water
Springs only to your touch.

2 comments:

Tim Buck said...

This is really good.

iuliaflame said...

thank you

En plein air - in memoriam Andrew Bellon

A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...

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