I forget the taste of blood
from a velvet peach,
the bruised season's
last hours.
Now she's just a sun's
afterimage.
At first I thought I'd lost
my own body,
felt it slip with the wind.
Then I began
to practice the faith
of bare trees,
learned to enter winter,
an empty cathedral,
enter nights as dreams
that sing
in different shades
of green.
Marcene Gandolfo, When she leaves, I think of Demeter in autumn
from here
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At first I thought I’d lost
my own body,
felt it slip with the wind.
Then I began
to practice the faith
of bare trees,
learned to enter winter,
an empty cathedral,
enter nights as dreams
that sing
in different shades
of green.
— Marcene Gandolfo, from “When She Leaves, I Think of Demeter in Autumn,” published in Glass
445 notes
·
View notes
At first I thought I’d lost
my own body,
felt it slip with the wind.
Then I began
to practice the faith
of bare trees,
learned to enter winter,
an empty cathedral,
enter nights as dreams
that sing
in different shades
of green.
- Marcene Gandolfo
0 notes