Piece of Poetry

I'm offering something a little different than the random poems I sling onto this page...I won't reveal what exactly is different about this poem until tomorrow, but see how you like it. Tomorrow, I'll reveal a little more about it.

"Ferolles"

Sun’s opening eye, search out pebbles and blinking glass,

and find her shadows, warming one by one.

Night’s passing tears, fall on empty barns and shutter-rust,

and cool her many eyelids, waking all at once.

Steeple’s tolling bell, call to Monsieur Belloc and Mme. Baptiste

and sound her incense, rising ring by ring.

Schoolyard’s gravel, crunch under cycles and soles,

and score her students, tumbling now and again.

Drop, sparrow, and dip, swallow,
as she firms in my mind’s hand.

Walk, mare, and wilt, willow,
as she wiles along the Loire.

Watch, raptor, Argus-eyed,
the saffron stripes, wheeling to the light.

Sigh, one, for her beauty, her metier
found in floral, furrowed atelier.

Pause, eidolon, at her grander sisters,
Usse, Chaumont, Chenonceau.

Still, she fills my failing sight, treading tractor-laid lanes,
still not rising from rest, the morning rising,
still and silent, the petaled quilt
not still as my fingers shiver Lemon Queens.

I left her road, alone,
and her, my gamine,
my Gallic Elysium.