After the thaw,grass greens its blades to meet the mower,
daughters are raised, prom goers
in pinned-on flowers wilt from the nearness
of over-hot hours and days.
Sons, their hearts (and they have them)
swollen, like rivers, are unable to ever
go back, as haze lifts, descends.
Fair-weather friends smile
while plans are made and deserts storm
just over flag-draped horizons.
Now airports at night receive
flights of sun-filled boxes
and docks on the bay feel the sway
of tide on tide and May after May.
A few ships come in, there,
below the blue hills
and the gaze of gray foxes.
~ Ralph Murre
2 comments:
A good one, as usual, with an artistry and attention to detail too often missing in the work I see by others. Love that image tucked away in the middle of airports receiving boxes.
Thanks, Bruce ~ yeah, I struggled with the spelling ~ sun-filled, or son-filled ~ decided on the subtler image, knowing a few, at least, would get the inference.
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