Gerald Stern – June First Blossoms Of Spring

2EC71DFE-4B5E-4925-B604-1ED54C79E72BGerald Stern (February 22, 1925 -)

Some blossoms are so white and luscious, when they
hold their long thin hands up you strip them for love
and scatter them on the ground as you walk;

and some birds look at you as if there were no
great line drawn between their lives and yours,
as if you drank together from the same cement;

and some pods spin in the wind as if you would not pick
them up gingerly to see if they had wings
and then would not break them open to see what made them fall, to study their viscera.

I touch you as I would the sawdust in the eaves
or the crazy buttercups in the middle of the mulepath
or the frightening foil

jumping and leaping in front of the oily grackles;
and I touch you as I touch the grass, my body falls down on the ground
and I pull at the roots as I watch you in the limbs
bending down to avoid the red blossoms,
hiding in the leaves,
reaching up like the tallest dryad,
your curved arms and your jewelled fingers
waving slowly again in the hot sun.