“Chaplet” by C. Murray

Chaplet

I.

A conversation among trees

I cannot hear what they are saying, that young girl and the tree,
their whispers are intimate, ceaseless.

I am sunk into a conifer hedge, tamped into a wall,
threaded into the blue ivy.

This is a warm chaplet against the rain,
I would lie here if it wasn’t for the sky—

the sky will not skew to my vision,
body conspires with green-leaf to thrust me forward

 

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II.

Bower

I am become aware that it is time for this to cease,

a mead of daisies whiten on the windward side
of a grove. Trees,
daisies, are blown white beneath a silver beech.

Those hues balance
for once —

And,
and If I step at once from the shelter of this close bower,
will I hold?

© C. Murray