Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SPRING SEQUENCE, by WARD RITCHIE Poet's Biography
First Line: You carried the scent of your garden
Last Line: For memory.
You carried the scent of your garden
into my studio. It has lasted for many hours.
I still breathe it down to my heart
from the blossom of sweet william
which you dropped.
I have gathered blooms of acacia
from the tree that leans on my window.
And now they lie on the spread pages
of my book -- as I think of you.
Know you the flower
that I had that other night
when we drove soft by the black arroyo
and down the sleepy boulevard?
The flower is gone.
I find its death-husk on this seat,
its faint pinkness dry on the blue car's floor,
and I recall its loveliness of yesternight.
When I came home, the ocean fog
had hung its wraps upon the trees,
and like grey light was spreading into day.
The world was damp and calm,
with hardly quietness astir,
except for the flutter of valley quail
across the night refreshed grass
and their soft call to morning.
I was immersed in beauty and was happy.
You and I,
we walked into the night
and stumbled on the air,
with arms entwined.
I stopped and pulled the golden hay
and sprinkled it throughout your hair,
down to your shoulders where it lay,
and kissing you through cool,
twelve-fingered pepper tree leaves
I saw your eyes ablaze
with the morning light,
as if glistenning with tears.
I rode home, down the path
of the purple jacaranda trees
with only the white moon
in its lonely sky,
and darkness standing by,
and silence --
when from the tautened night
a bird gave song,
not having heard you weep.
Last night, as the midnight moon
late rose from its horizon,
I took a La Crescenta bloom
of yucca to your door,
and silently left it --
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