By and by, dear heart 
The illusion of absence slips
Up the valley 
North washed against our shadow

An absence of rain 

A voice sings in the Southern field 
Do your feet remember me?
There were, and are, no deer 
In this valley 
And, antlers bend with the feral kale 

Things bend by April
Time will Spring
Back into the shape of strawberries 
Return to us, dimpled dreams

For the saffron days
Revoke fire across this tawny land 
Protect us from directness
Else would we not make these bodies
These vines
These pea greens 
These spinning blades 

Forging from fallow further friendliness 

Things will arrive by me in April 
Oh, verdancy living on shoulders 
Sleeping things 
And hard smiles, gifts passing through 

Western-ness holds the promise now 
Of fawns, and berries, and fruitfulness

So arrive, down this twisted line
Juno’s preparation twirl
We are making your steel May Pole
Our ribbons, dear heart 

Were never as far as absence 

~Solomon