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)