Blue Shepherd

Nymphs unleave by calm water,
shed silken stuff, seamless
soft colored raiment they discard
like autumn trees
their delicate issue

until the earth is carpeted in piles
that breaths of Zephyrus make animate
with frilly last leaps
before they, lifeless but still scented,
lie grounded.

I chew them with teeth pared blunt
by grinding; taste them, like warm mint
or finger stolen jam,
with insatiable buds
which of Fancy are not surfeited.

Secreted in shrubs I hunger
but never will hie me to them:
driven away, my feet ravage
over undergrowth thick
Arcadia-wise.

Being the paragon voyeur, my desire,
ages established, must remain
unsatisfied forever: my seed
stored, barren, until the
last poem be written.



early 90s (imitation of Plath: style not content)