after DH Lawrence
even after winter’s iron,
a rain-slaked garden
blossom’s unquenchable heart
how a woman,
after the knife, finds
she is still herself
that the girl who walked
under spring-wet trees
is not yet lost
that the sap spurts
greenly under the bark
the trees in exile walk
but the same moon’s cream is balm
in an orchard of rusted swords
the blossoms surge and soothe
Kommentaar
Beautiful.