August
As promised, true to expectation,
From curtain to the sofa spanning,
The early morning sunray cast
Its penetrating slash of saffron.
Blazing ochre was outspread
Over nearby copse and homestead,
My tear-stained pillow, and the bed,
A stretch of wall beyond the bookshelf.
And I recalled the reason why
My pillowslip was lightly dampened:
I dreamed you'd come to say goodbye,
Wending your way among the woodland.
You filed in ones and twos, in streams.
Then suddenly came recollection:
This was the ancient August feast,
This was our L-rd's Transfiguration.
This day a flameless radiant light
Is said to issue from Mount Tabor,
And autumn, like a portent bright,
Commands enraptured observation.
You made your way amid the sere
And starkly shimmering alder thicket,
Then through the graveyard's russet leaves,
Ablaze like glowing ginger biscuit.
Aloft, the trees' quiescent crowns
Had solemn heaven for their neighbor,
And distance echoed back the sound
Of roosters' long-drawn ululation.
And there, among the trees and graves
Stood death, to make official survey
And look into my lifeless face
And size my limbs for their interment.
Then, near at hand and heard by all,
A voice spoke, calm and reassuring -
My own prophetic voice of yore,
Intact, untainted by corruption:
"Farewell, Transfiguration's azure
And gold of Savior's Day the Second!
Let gentle female hands caress
Me as the bitter ending beckons.
"Farewell to those uncounted years.
We fain must say goodbye, o woman,
Who braved indignity's abyss!
My heart was witness to your striving.
"Farewell, o span of outstretched wing,
Free flight forever soaring onwards,
World's image manifest in speech,
And artistry, the work of wonders!"
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