“A Clearing in a Windless, Shaded Wood,” poem, first appeared in Whistling Shade¸ summer 2008. Visit theShade at: http://whistlingshade.com/0802/0802.

A Clearing in a Windless, Shaded Wood

But when they sought his body, they found nothing,
Only a flower with a yellow center
Surrounded by white petals.

--Metamorphoses, Book 3, lines 508-510

The gods can’t seem to clear
their throats tonight.

Even Echo holds
her breath…

Narcissus drowns
in his own sight.

Even still
water stirs.

Water blossoms
sway without wind.

The Spanish Iris dons
her tepals like a brave

scalped by my scalpel.
They seem somehow disturbed as I

uproot a withered flower left
in the rain, trembling in my hand.

I think perhaps it’s my own hand
trembling or the rain that

stirs its dark roots.
I take it in my tent

billowing like a lung
and lay it down.

Its roots continue to tremble
long into the still evening…