Miss Clarke, writing

  • newly risen
    soft-petaled, frost-dressed
    morning’s ghosts

  • a long white shiver
    in the storm-wracked garden
    one hundred new snowdrops

  • twice-named
    white shouldered
    watch me
    hold it all together
    the golden embroidery

  • in the wet garden
    new
    velveted
    magnolia buds

  • Blossom

    A dream of you; the garden

    The light dew on the tall grass

    The white blossoms on your back

    I want to walk the long roads

    to the old quiet places

    to the room where you are sleeping

    I want to fill your house with flowers.

  • Winchelsea

    Here, in my hand, a photo
    of you and I together
    at the lookout, the undercroft.
    We gaze across the marshes
    at the rough wall of stones
    hiding the promise of the sea.
    Listen, my dear,
    the blind girl sings to you;
    conjures up soft music.
    A song of your birth
    in gunboat skies,
    a wash of sound and light
    an infant rainbow.

  • The Infantas

    marsh-swans
    the grand infantas
    their wide white farthingales
    stiff-winged encumbrances

  • from your subtle hand
    my gift
    sharp and bright
    as a diamond

  • Roses

    visiting the scene
    of past misdemeanors
    the night sky, the wet grass
    the roses
    the only witnesses

  • lone pigeon flying
    faster than he intended
    thoughts of a storm