Coeur d'Alene spring: reliving his regret for the 23rd time

So begins another dusk, red sun
dipping below darkened sill,
departure, like yours, summoning dim memory
lyric poem, "The Pasture," Frost account
of love dancing in me now, partner

to fading rays. I recall
New England speaker shy to lover
probably summer blonde
like you glistening tawny
in sun-streaked open pose:

I'm going to clean the pasture spring,
rake leaves away, maybe
linger as cloudy water clears;
I shan't be gone long. You come too."
He planned to fetch a calf so young

it tottered under mother's lick
the way your shivers quicken
when I nuzzle kisses up your sides.
"You come too," he whispered a second time.
I wonder if lover seized that chance

took outstretched hand
for one hour left tedious chores
behind, tromped arm and waist
with him away together
spongy meadow grass imprinting love

as they strolled, two yet one
passing afternoon under shadowed willows
glistening white. Or did she too
allow burdens, not quite trivial
not yet mundane, to clog spring

again choke pasture grass, say
"Sorry, much to do before summer comes"?
I hope he smiled, knew muddied water
bawling calf, meadow also waited
tending. I hope he managed

one more "Won't you come too?"
just before the leaving.



Timothy Pilgrim