All the gardens

All the gardens I dreamed of planting,
mid-winter, Boston, the names of flowers
I knew only from pictures, light slanting
in the low way it has in dark hours.

Mid-winter, Boston, the names of flowers
like some gathered common blessing.
In the low way it has in dark hours,
my imagination was undressing.

Like some gathered common blessing,
country of snow, universe of quiet.
My imagination was undressing
under heavy clothes we wore outside.

Country of snow, universe of quiet
unlike the noisy heat and green of home.
Under heavy clothes we wore outside,
no place to be but all alone.

Unlike the noisy heat and green of home
that snowed-in place of stilled reflecting,
no place to be but all alone,
all the gardens I dreamed of planting.

 

 

The frilly ones with faint white wings

The frilly ones with faint white wings
trailing the measure of their boots,
their dusty open golden things,
a pantomime of royal loot.

Trailing the measure of their boots,
how could those things be made to speak,
the pantomime of royal loot,
dreams more magnificent than meek?

How could those things be made to speak?
Their thinginess denies all pleasure.
Dreams more magnificent than meek
will hardly do to sop their leisure.

Their thinginess denies all pleasure–
the shiny things they panted for
will hardly do to sop their leisure
when all they want is wanting more.

The shiny things they panted for,
their dusty open golden things
when all they want is wanting more,
the frilly ones with faint white wings.