Seeing you as you left that night
Mirrored softly in the haze of light,
Walking through the tall grasses as black
As our burned-out hours together,– back
You went toward the world’s sharp edge
And were gone beyond its deepening ledge.
I knew silence came with your going,
And that an open flower must close in knowing.
But still, come be the earth beneath the tree
On which I grow, a black stalk holding me,
So when I fall, you may absorb me still:
Fruit of our knowledge, and my vanquished will.
And I who wither for an ecstasy,
Drop for new flowering beneath the tree.
(Isobel Stone)
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