13

Through leaden days unwarmed
I question myself unanswered.
My weary voice, unechoed, dies
In wells too deep to plumb.

My dream of staggering bounty
(Wild, improbable, true)
Is based upon the simple pearl,
The closed and counted days

Of a naked crouching child alone
Who struck and split repeatedly
The dusty speckled oval rock
Intent to see the pattern brighten.

In drizzle came a hedge today,
Painted in autumn colour;
Yesterday the yew's red pearl
By spears of green were covered.


© Dan Goorevitch, 1998