Image result for trees in painting

I held my breath under the New England trees.
The grass was soft where I bent my knees,
By the broken twigs and flowers, and I wept openly in the park
Until large buildings were immersed in the evening and the puddles after the rain were dark.

A thought came into my heart difficult
To forget. Could I forget what I felt?
I couldn’t. I couldn’t forget cold numbers or the old address,
Or what it seemed to be, and loosely what it was attached to, historically, or less.

I made my way into a patch of woods
Where the shadows had hidden us. The moods
Of love are many, and some of those moods are pain.
I walked with a fistful of flowers out of the woods to the lane.

I remember thinking I remembered
That I had been good, though I couldn’t remember,
And I made inside myself a thousand pacts
That I would be good and safe: my remembrances, my acts.

You want me to surrender. But I surrendered long ago.
You wonder if I love you. Was it so difficult to know?


1 Comment

  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    April 11, 2017 at 5:36 pm

    As though Keats walked again (and wrote).

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