Of Historical Significance
Even the blossoms blown
off in a throb of wind
so god help us
to make love with-
out becoming a plot
of fresh earth some
day the night curved
as a sky sinking
inside an eye I
walk across
a yard of fallen
apples kicking
them to reveal still-
damp flesh & hear
the feet before
the first snow fell
on our lovers
& land before
we worshipped the good
morning in a tongue
trimmed of light I lift
flowers I forgot
the names to in
any English & say
your names the way
I was taught one
after the other.
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