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| Cold Spring © 2012 by Ellin Anderson |
| COLD SPRING Ellin Anderson Watching the white-hot light of May Fall like a sheet of burning glass On the white trees, I turned away, Never consoled, While the rich green of leaf and grass Drenched me with cold. Like a familiar lullaby, Spring made the somber shadows run; Morning to night, the gentle sky, Regally blue, Whirled on the pivot of the sun, And the days grew. Leaf-buds unfolded, easing doubt; Blossoms crocheted a canopy As for a cradle, blocking out Hard slant of light, Thundering from the apogee, Fatally bright — Threadbare, because the wind began Scattering petals on the ground; Delicate, and more transient than Too-early flower, Or waves too small to make a sound, Or spring snow-shower. Flown, like the bee who found my glove, Rested a moment, and was gone, Flecking it with the saffron of Fertility, Lacy-winged sailor, balanced on Fragility. Shading my face, I saw it rise Over the trees, and disappear At the blind place that made my eyes Two stinging coals, Sharing between them one salt tear — Light of pure souls! Late in the day, a hazy hood Covered the trees, foretelling fire — Incense for angels: apple-wood, Smoldering spice, Banked with a mass of scorching briar — The sacrifice. Now the pale comets droop and wane. Apples of gold and cinnabar Ripen beneath the heavy rain. Soon, as before, Shell of a brittle five-point star Blooms at the core. When they have gone past ripening, Crows will descend, the ragged flock Drunk on the fruit, and staggering — Oddly obscene, Like a cathedral's broken clock Chiming thirteen. At the first quickening of the year, Past the old season's tragedies, Locked in a dream, I wandered here, While freezing air Swept leaf and petal from the trees, Leaving them bare. © 2012 by Ellin Anderson. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied or used in any way without written permission from the author.
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