I would lie down again in your bed of fabrications
Like a quilt of many voices covering me in darkness
Colors stitched from the motions of your hands bringing water
From low places, or your kneeling each morning to build a fire
As though the sun had come to call, and we were all new.
I would sit peeling apples with you in the plum-tree shade,
Waiting for the four-o’clocks to open. When the dog
Found his corner at bedtime, I would again watch his turning,
Hear your voice, and see immemorial grasses bending.
When you asked, the longlegs pointed the way of the wind;
When you put the shell to my ear, I heard the sea.
I would go again with you carrying cans of bright flowers,
Heavy iron shears, sun hats made of straw, and gloves-
Peonies falling over drowsy to the ground by that day
And gathered in bunches ivory and white like girls
Gowned in green leaves. I would imitate your swinging
As you show me how to shake off the ants, and they fall.
Go following after you on that day of light and stones
Lodged in a green meadow: to place the blades of grass again
In order; to trace the hard insignia of hearts, smooth links
Of chain, and tools; to be again there with you encountering
Old friends, who also come to decorate each year, who speak
Of times when you were young together. Listening to voices
Admiring the flame of blossoms, the bees, the white lamb
That waits on the stone: would hear pollen in these shadows,
All the naming, gathering of things, parts innumerable
That make up this world. There I would lie down again, yes
And become whole, like the ending of a story, and sleep.
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