Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Maundy Thursday

The day before
you died,
it was spring.
You told me
I was wild,
and you loved me.

The wind blew from everywhere
at once. You snatched
my hand and steered
me, through stinging
nettles, to the ridge.

We stood, clutching
the wire, swaying
like windblown grass.
You wrapped me
in laughter, drew
the whole world
into your eyes.

I remember no single tree,
or rock, or flower,
only The import
of a thing surrounded,
Here in body.
You did not know
you were making symbols
for the rest of my life.

Italics: Richard Wilbur: “The Eye”

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