by Denise Kruizenga-Muro
How many like us
Has this place witnessed?
How many have lain down
Full only of each other
In this place
Where the old winter grass
Is dying
And the new spring sweetness springs?
How many have the hawks spied
Lying below entwined unaware?
None have lain here but you and I.
None have ever felt so full
Nor screamed so primal
Nor needed as much
Under the eye of March’s moon,
Spring’s sweet chaparral,
The witness immemorial.
1 comment:
I like this poem. I especially like "Full only of each other".
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