The Orchid
My love is
a wounded man
a woman that cries
My love is
a child’s mind
dreaming of wax
glass and cedar.
Oh how she aches
years ago simmers
the last heat
from the heart under
all the red fog.
Do you remember the misty
brown of your own garden
years ago, love?
In the blue twilight.
Endless departures at sail!
In vain will we lead
the orchid window,
circling vapors
like the sun that holds
bitter waters.
Perhaps it will return.
A coldliness falls
over me when I see
her flowing away.
And the sun
bends back to the light.
Above the doors.
~~He reaches toward
the rippling birth…
the slight embarkations.
~~I kiss it with
for the golden hour. That will be alright!.
- William Carlos Williams