IN THE BEGINNING, IT IS STILL HARD TO SAY IT
Go slowly. Let your shadow
lengthen across the dark yard,
let the suggestion of your form
reach out ahead of you, to the trees
that are silvered by porch light
like moonlit orchards
of a Bécquer legend.
In the beginning, it is still
hard to say it.
In the beginning, it is
the taut skin of fruit
before it is ripe and ready to bear
its sweetness, it is the earth
in the first eight minutes of darkness,
waiting for the sunlight to arrive.
(published in Contemporary Verse 2, Fall 2016, Vol. 39 No. 2)