[return to author's index]

John W. Sexton, UK

Untitled

in the neglected orchard fallen apples rot into the ground, brown squatting things like a strange congress of toads, putrid in the lessening light.

I become suddenly aware of a second orchard, for the apple trees cast apple trees of shadow. We stand together in the clash between the two orchards and I turn to look into your face. The green of your eyes is the green of light through leaves, and I begin to forget, to forget all corruptible things.

A blackbird moves into the dark innards of the hedgerow. His bright beak blackens in shadow. Later you will offer me this same gift.

A cat of shadow, enormous in the lowering sunlight, walks along the wooden fence, a real cat by her side. Later, later, I will learn to follow where they go.

darkness
your untied hair
covers my face

[return to author's index]