Revisions!

Birdsong is in the dishes

this March morning, grey sky 

shouldering through the open window - 

longer days a rubber band stretching 

until it snaps in late June like lightening.

Here, each lemon, each flash of a chipped, 

gold-rimmed plate a blessing of light. 

Forget your perfect offering, when you come 

back to me, tangled in wild thoughts, 

I nurse you on amber honey, soft fields 

of purple clover.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes
this March morning, grey sky
shouldering through the open window -
longer days a rubber band stretching
until it can't, late June snap like lightening.

Here, each lemon, each flash of a chipped,
gold-rimmed plate a blessing of light.
Forget your perfect offering, when you come
back to me all tangled in wild,
I nurse you on amber honey,
soft fields of yellow and gold.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes
this March morning, soap up to my elbows,
grey sky shouldering through the open window -
longer days a rubber band stretching
until it can't, late June snap like lightening.

Here, each lemon, each flash of a chipped,
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.
Forget your perfect offering, when you come
back to me tangled in wild, pollen strung
beneath your nails like gold pearls,
I nurse you on amber honey,

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
soap up to my elbows, grey sky
shouldering through the open window
like a promise of longer days -
rubber band stretching until it can't,
late June snap like lightening.

Here, each lemon peel, each flash of a chipped,
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.
Forget your perfect offering,
when you come back to me, tangled
in wild, pollen strung like gold pearls
against your skin,

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
soap up to my elbows, grey sky
shouldering through the open window
like a promise of longer days - a rubber band
stretching until it can't - late June snap
always as sudden, as unforgiving as lightening.

And when you come back to me, tangled
in wild, snow strung like iced pearls
against your skin, I am still at the sink
clutching scrubber and soap. I am reminded
to forget your perfect offering, each lemon peel,
each flash of chipped gold-rimmed plate
is a blessing of light.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
soap up to my elbows, grey sky
shouldering through the open window
a promise of longer days - rubber band
stretching until it can't - late June snap
always as sudden, as unforgiven as lightening.

And when you come back to me,
tangled in wild, snow strung like pearls
against your skin, I am still at the sink.
But forget your perfect offering, each lemon
peel, each flash of chipped, gold-rimmed plate
a blessing of light.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water,
grey sky shouldering through the open window
a far promise of longer days - rubber band
stretching until it can't - always the late
June snap as sudden and unforgiven as lightening.

And when you finally come back to me,
tangled in wild, snow strung like pearls
against your skin, I am still at the sink,
scrubbing as if it were my moon mission.
Well, forget your perfect offering, each lemon peel,
each flash of chipped, gold-rimmed plate
is a blessing of light.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water,
grey sky shouldering through the open window,
an anemic promise of longer days. Yet always
the late June snap and we are flung back
into half-light. But forget your perfect offering,
here, each lemon peel, each flash of chipped,
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water,
grey sky shouldering through the open window,
an anemic promise of longer days. I close my eyes,
dream of the wild tangle of blooms and sunlight
pouring across your garden in the riot of May.
Yet always the late June snap and we are flung back
into half-light. But forget your perfect offering,
here, each lemon peel, each flash of chipped,
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.

*** 

Birdsong in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water,
grey sky shouldering through the open window,
an anemic promise of longer days. I close my eyes,
dream of the wild tangle of blooms and sun
pouring across your garden in the riot of May.
Yet always the late June snap and we are flung
back into mouths of half-lit months. 

But forget your perfect offering, here, 
each lemon peel, each flash of chipped, 
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light. 

***

Birdsong in the dishes this March morning, 
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water, 
grey sky shouldering through the open window, 
an anemic promise of longer days. I close my eyes, 
dream of the wild tangle of blooms and sun
pouring across your garden in the riot of May. 
But forget your perfect offering, always 
the late June snap and we are flung 
back into the mouths of half-lit months. 
Here, each lemon peel, each flash of chipped, 
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light. 

***

Birdsong in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water, 
grey sky shouldering through the open window, 
an anemic promise of longer days. I close my eyes, 
dream of the wild tangle of blooms and sun
pouring across your garden in the riot of May. 
But forget your perfect offering, always
the late June snap and we are flung 
back into the mouths of half-lit months. 

***  FINAL

Birdsong in the dishes this morning, 
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water, 
grey sky shouldering through the open window, 
anemic. I close my eyes, dream of the wild 
tangle of blooms and sun pouring across 
your garden in the riot of May. Yet, 
always the late June snap and we are flung
back into the mouths of half-lit months. 
Forget your perfect offering - here, 
each lemon peel, each flash of chipped, 
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.

copyright mdavis 2013