for Lynn

no, you are not slow, in the light gentle butterfly, find it in the throat, music when you read your lines no, you are not sour at all sweet woman, in awe shrouded in your discretion silence for effect, your quiet ear hidden in your hair, extended for your poem, your soul, warm in your gray wool worn in the air though blown, grown flower, lilting caution sung, in the breezes feeling sure, being careful your love, your gender your soft perceptions move along certain valleys over smooth hills, loooking for a color in the grass, could it be? no, you are not small or somber or smothered or still unloving, the landed one love, doesn’t flatter who cares most for you who says the good and the bad tells you so, nectar but enough of this who has green problems of self in the dirt, of woe no, or it’s the delicate light that’s mostly easily darkened.

2 November 1973