The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light

Hymen, O Hymen king, what bitter thing is this? what shaft, tearing my heart? what scar, what light, what fire searing my eye—balls and my eyes w…

I first tasted under Apollo’s lip… love and love sweetness, I, Evadne; my hair is made of crisp violets or hyacinth which the wind combs b…

The mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed—time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass,

Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent

Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,

From citron—bower be her bed, cut from branch of tree a—flower, fashioned for her maidenhead. From Lydian apples, sweet of hue, cut the width of board and lathe,

Stars wheel in purple, yours is no… as Hesperus, nor yet so great a st… as bright Aldeboran or Sirius, nor yet the stained and brilliant… stars turn in purple, glorious to…

O be swift— we have always known you wanted us… We fled inland with our flocks. we pastured them in hollows, cut off from the wind

Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure

YOU are as gold as the half—ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through

Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down