Fey

[serge gurkski]

It nestles in the elbow of the breeze,
this faerie dance, this seeded chance we spin
from gossamer; these minuets begin
when bubbles burst on tongues in cherry trees.
You bloom for me and I recall the knees
we skinned on bark, and how your sister’s shin
left codeine stripes upon the branch, her thin
and frightened cry, your soothing words, the bees.

The summer fades in sepia and stone.
Today you shrug the honey from my hand
and crack protesting knees in heavy tread
as bubbles sit in dishwater, unblown
and yesterday slinks further from the land –
but in the sun, the cherries still glow red.

Hello Leanne,


The German word for how I feel reading you here is hingerissen ( id est:blown away)

There ate lines in these two stanzas that sing like Dylan T indeed

There simply must be something Celtic (to be precise: cymraeg) running through your veins
but I also hear a bit Roethke …


Fey gives it away anyway. ;-)
Very moving threads or better: gossamer
or still better gossamer of (Welsh fey
you have woven here:

1. “this faerie dance, this seeded chance we spin …


2. Today you shrug the honey from my hand...


(this IS Dylan Thomas' voice, when it sings of Fern Hill:

exemplum gratium:

“ Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,“
and also: “Down the rivers of the windfall light.“

("minuets" qualifies high time as a sergism ( don't take my word (as I won't take your's, but instead let this be confirmed by Tomtec. ;-) )

Thank you very much for this read!

Cheers

serge