Saturday, June 14, 2003

To Mary Helyn

Written for my wife some years ago, probably, I think, for Mother’s Day, but I would like to re-offer it now in honor of our anniversary. I don't think she'll mind. I'll find out soon enough.

To Mary Helyn

Like a woman, Nature's beauty may overwhelm
(And her indifference, too.) Time's flow,
Made endless by its Source, the dark realm
Beyond the blue - of these I would know,
Though all seem vast beyond our measure.
Her cycles fixed, next to you her secrets pale,
And certain weary facts constrain our pleasure
In her profusion, make her fruit go stale
On the tongue: her flowers shall bedeck my tomb.
But you are creation's handmaid. All men save one
Have slept beneath your heart; without your womb -
Where my world was born - His will cannot be done:
One night the Holy Ghost one knee to a woman bent,
And hung the earth's fate upon her gracious consent.





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