Kirsteen MacLeod

Green

Green, how much I want you green.
Great stars of white frost
come with the fish of darkness
that opens the road of dawn.

     —Federico Garcia Lorca

Landscape of quartz
moonlight, ice, white
tracks of fox and deer.
This is how I imagine
your absence: pale
animals pass unseen,
terrible snow-prints
steal away from me
into white trees.
Green, how much I want you, green.

So come, green shoots,
first flush of spring
when ferns unravel,
buds burst from green alder
green oak, green maple.
Stay, emerald gypsy,
lie with me on soft moss
under summer's leafy branches
as warm wings of the green locust
melt the great stars of white frost.

Draw back, green,
when sunlight wanes
flame away
in oranges and vermilions.
I know all lovers must part —
but never into whiteness.
Dazzling leaf,
fling yourself
from night's tree and promise
to come back with the fish of darkness.

Decanted into black water
swim through the gold
of the lingering sunset.
Meet me there
by the ringed pool
where ferns come undone
and I abide in willow and water lily.
Meet me there, my green love
by the whirling pond of sun
that opens the road of dawn.

P. K. Page

November 23rd, 1916—
January 14th, 2010

Drawing of P. K. Page by Heather Spears

Drawing by Heather Spears