Reverie under Wild Parsley

Maureen Shaughnessy

Part of the set, almost black and white nature.


Wild Parsley

I lay my cheek down on
cool green blades
and watch flickering sunlight move
through disks of wild parsley

inhale spring sap perfume -- the
scent hangs sweet and redolent from
cottonwood buds -- heavy
like a cloud of old memories

I listen to a swishing
crinoline gesture in the distance
branch-dancers rise beneath
the always-flow of water music

my thoughts float
on the surface of years ago ...
carried over and over through the repeated questions
of some bird's one-note-song

each repeated stanza rises at the end
like a bedspring in the forest,
creaking under the weight of
so much life

insects float and twirl,
their translucent wings
are dust motes
beckoning wild unstructured

the way memory sometimes
starts
and stops -- in fits --
and broken soundings and
comes back to the light

copyright Maureen Shaughnessy 2006

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