Tuesday

Poem



A yellowish moon has settled onto the surface 
of the pond as stars settle onto the surface of  
evening.  Frogs sing through diamonds

calling beloved.

Softened by citron and rain the canvas brightens,
then darkens.  A black line settles on the surface

also calling beloved.

I have so little I want so much, beloved.
I have so much I want so little, beloved.

A pretty little wind lifts the leaf filled arm
of the tree.  Lift then sway but only a bit.

I have so much I want so little, beloved.
I have so little I want so much, beloved.

The words of a Swedish poet, two years 
dead, settle on the page of an opened book
to call and sing through my hand. 

Forty words. So little so much.  Beloved.