For Mona and Jarvis
I
A glut of roses in apple-season.
Spoilers in the plum-tree, birds
Who bled sour fruit. Ripe-rotten
On the vines, tomatoes. Borers
In the corn, rabbits
That nibbled the strawberry-plants,
What is this harvest?
II
Crumble, brick,
Break, pot,
Rust, iron,
Wither, blossom,
Rot, straw:
I am the rain
I am the cold
Under my grey blanket
Root and bud
Drowse without dreaming.
III
All remedies in nature. Long ago,
When my mother was a baby, to smell dry roses
Was to comfort the heart. Violets
For him that could not sleep. Ate iris-root
To cure the belly’s torments. Marigold
Was antidote to poisoning, pestilence,
And angry words. Peony
To the falling evil. Old aunts gathered
Leaves of the lily to succor the serpent-bitten.
Back to the shelves, drugs and alchemicals:
Rake, weed and water: heal us, gardener.
IV
A swift flies over the plum-tree.
Shadows under the trees. Evening. Twilight is falling.
The swift’s flight casts no shadow on the garden.
The darkness under the trees comes from below.
Shadows come up from the earth. A rim of light
Is dazzling at the horizon. The round earth tilts;
The night it spills over us is our own.
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