DRINKING THE FIELD
See how this meadow continually
parts and rejoins itself
like a lake, a body of water–
the grasses changing color
the waves of wind-shadow
skimming across the field.
Now suddenly inside
the woods an agitation
happens, a local disturbance
amongst the birches–
I put down my palette
the useless brushes
All I can do now
is drink up the blue
of the lupine
inhale the welter
of yellow and saffron,
ochre and foamy white
—so greedy for more
that when I close my eyes
I still taste desire.
Enough! Enough!
Even now the oaks
at the far edge are
thrashing their dark
heads and the clouds
are in a race to see
which one will be first
to hurl down the rain.
GERALDINE ZETZEL POETRY 