JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Floating back across the slide rule of Time
like a dandelion spore seeking the earth,
I find her smooth skin, fresh buds
milk-black hair, young blooms
bark full of sap, laughing
sweet young maple,
peach; hair winding around fruit

She regards me, as if my branches
were supple as hers; dandelion dance
she moves towards me, her voice a breeze
in my ears, innocent as the day
she was planted, laughing apple eyes

 

My ears full of unaccustomed words,
how could I confess the places I had been,
fields I had sown with my hoe,
rain I had wept waiting for her to grow?
unadorned sweet young sapling of Youth

 

Impossible!  I shake my branches
leaves all brittle,
painted, autumn-scarred victims of Time
all those years waiting…
she moves towards me
touches my eyes with her leafy fronds
does she recognize me?

Her leaves the merest whisper
of disappointment
she floats on…
talking to the willows
a single backwards glance
assures me that she does
and then she is gone
and I am left with a bare heart
…and my pen