Posts Tagged ‘what cannot be held’

Sometimes midsummer the body
simply refuses to go inside. Though
reason would say to hide from the sun
midday, the body goes out anyway
to the garden, the orchard, the river,
the field and gathers warmth, as if
it could store this wealth of light, as if
one winter night it might from some fold
of pallid skin produce a secret radiant skein,
something fulsomely warm still smack
with peonies and wild mustard scent,
something not bitter and not at all slant
that we might wrap our shivering bodies in,
oh wheeling swallows, oh sun so high.

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