DROWNING WOMAN'S COVE

Perfect is the setting of this golden day.                                 
Lakeside,                                                           
Jane, you appear, green eyes
mirroring the dozing willows.
Creak old jetty, I dare you.
Your lips eclipse such sentient sighs.
The business of beauty is done.
Fishermen gather in their creels.
A solitary dog
shepherds a flock of mallards.
Oh how lovely, Jane, are all your memories.
The swallow circus dance retreats.
An old man's weary song fades.
A golden boat docks,
sends ripples to the edges your heart.
At twilight,
a newly darkened swan
floats mutely through the reeds.
An old apple tree flutters in the wind,
its fruits fallen at its feet.
The moon emerges from the evening waters.
Stars twinkle above the hill.
Night air sips the moisture from your forehead,
the blood from your veins.
Dead, dead, dead, tolls the bells
of the distant church.
Oh ghosts, say I, we must not talk of this.
 


HOW TO AVOID CROWDS                                      

Get as remote as you can.
Even in a room filled with people,
be that time you hiked the mountain pass alone.
Be thirst, even as the drinks are passed around.
You found a swift flowing stream.
The water was cold but so refreshing.
As people congregate, remember the
squirrel that darted away from you,
no human notions whatsoever
in that trembling head, those scurrying legs.
There was no wall-paper, no carpet then.
Just a lake high up where
you never thought there'd be a lake.
There was no conversation
though you couldn't speak for all that bird song.
And bright as it is when people gather,
remember how dark when trees finally
siphoned up the last of dusk,
and you touched something of yourself,
so long, so deep,
it needed vision to turn the other way.
Remember, for patience,
there's the leaves of the forest.

© John Gray

Bio: His work has been published recently in Agni, Worcester Review,  South Carolina Review and The Pedestal with work upcoming in Poetry East and Cape Rock.