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Yet place each berry
by Shirin Swift
Share your warm shirt with my cool dress in a makeshift dance.
I was never great at doing mathematics in my head, nor drawn to poetry.
Yet in as many as one way we are predicting where each berry will arise
on a plant we have delicately cultivated in the mind alone.
It is a singular tree: even before the plant has arisen, it has arisen
because we envision its perfection.
The month comes when rain-red drawstring berries
cluster like the fervencies of a drab life,
connecting instants of our glory to the plant's chaotic path.
Profuse aspirations release beautifying a fence,
before this cultivar has even arisen,
its days and nights confuse with my weeks of humidity,
but only by labor, is sweet, unpredictable growth sprung.
There is the one inside-out moment, shoulder-high in sidling thistles,
we danced I only wish to be plucked with you
yet continue, placing each berry to the hollow in your lips.
01/06/2007 Author's Note: It is a singular tree that, even before the seedling, arises.
Posted on 01/06/2007
Copyright © 2024 Shirin Swift
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 01/07/07 at 03:00 AM A toast, a song to the imagination... and its luscious realization. Amazing language and imagery..one step further into the glowing place of bright sunlight in the tropical flush of botanical wonders your poetry embodies. I could quote all of it if I were to say exactly what I love... but in general terms--the simultanaity of imagination and action, the hearth of realization lit by the poetic fire-- and passions heart--the dance is there already in the mind's eye, the berry tasted before the seed planted...just ongoing bliss. |
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