Thursday, October 13, 2016
I had a little nut tree, nothing would it bear
but a silver nutmeg and a golden pear.
So many shades of copper tinted orange,
orange tinted red, red washed out to evening’s
pink tints, late light in the breach,
and certain long shadows missing from the lawn.
Golden light on finches in and out of the hedgerow,
golden leaves of birch just turning,
golden edges of frost burnt hostas…
A point in time – now, for instance –
compression of desire. A point in space –
here, with a third quarter moon rising through
the maple and cows waiting at the gate –
expansion of desire. The walnut, still green, still
bearing pale, unripe fruit, sprawls on the grass, trunk split,
branches fractured; safe there from wind.
Image links to its source:
The image was found at poemshape.wordpress.com. The image is by Eleanor Vere Boyle & dates to the 19th century; thus it’s in the public domain.
For more information on the epigraph, please see this link.