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Sad, I. L. Salomon, in English Clear filters

SadI. L. Salomon

Elegy

The breath of music that you were Does not negate the agate sky Or minimize this difficult day Of your departure. There was a hint Of early spring this soft-iced morning; Rimed wet, the birch's twigs were bleak As talons in the watered air; A blackbird stitched across the snow A short-lived temporary suture On worn-down melting drifts. Absurd, Your artist life but half-begun, Sweet child, in this disquieting year To leave us desolate!, the burr, A knothead in your heart; the wry Rough cruel visitation, a Deleterious growth, unspent
SadI. L. Salomon

Wintering

Gone are the loved ones, gone, Who gave the earth its dole! As on my shoulder age Places a gentle stole It cannot stop the slow Wintering of the soul. Warm was the blood once, warm! Now as I walk alone, It shudders in the vein And trembles on the bone, While all the loved ones wait To claim me as their own.
SadI. L. Salomon

The Fawn

Brought up short by the sight of me Invading her mountain privacy, How could the fawn count me as one Who walked the woods without a gun? Unmoving, bound, her living sense Apprised of our alien difference, She stood for an instant at the brook As terror held her stiff as rock. How could she tell my hunger apart From the hungry urge of the hunter's heart, Or know the singing in me was Her beauty burnishing the grass? Eyes that were gentle fires became Desperately dark with flame As if her wary nerves defined The aching tremor of the mind.
SadI. L. Salomon

The Birdless Nest

I have held a bird's nest in my hand And caressed each instinct-woven strand Till my heart asked every empty bough, Who of all the birds is homeless now? Whether it was robin, thrush, or lark Whose tired wings fluttered in the dark, Its senses bankrupt, thrust itself upon My heart as if the bird's heart were my own. Spider web and moss and cat-tail fluff And dandelion down are proof enough No living thing but builds against the deep Inexplicable miracle of sleep
SadI. L. Salomon

Five Clear Eggs

Found: five clear eggs in a flycatcher's nest On the half-screened porch. I didn't know As I finished the job on my day of rest Where the flycatcher was as I uttered, Oh! And what to do with the work complete, And a nest sheared off the high eave's edge? (Alerted in her obscure retreat, No bird dared approach the reachable ledge.) So I left the door of the porch wide open, Left the nest and the threatened eggs alone, Left in pursuit of my perturbed hope in The flycatcher's instinct to claim her own. Unassured, I returned soon after the current Crisis forewarned me all wasn't well; The eggs, white moon to their five ends, weren't Starred in a brooch of nest hair and shell;

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