the boychild's shining skin
me tired to the bone
Already summer's over.
Goodbye, lilacs . Your
neon is past ; you'll bloom again
next spring. Past an age
each season feels like an end of summer
but still the tale's to tell
over and over for those
lolling and snoozing in the stroller,
preparing to come after.
Tall house standing on its high green hill–
children, do you remember?
Lawns slant down to a stream.
Under a striped tent
a buffet's spread in the sun .
Ideas of the eternal ,
once molten, harden; cool.
Oil, oil in the lock.
The old key turns.
Elizabeth Libbey
STARS ON A CLOUDY NIGHT
They're up there, I've seen them, I've read
about the bear, the bucket, the guy with the bow .
Sometimes a two-headed dragon wings
from this dot to that in the dark , clear
in his duty like a hummingbird, a bumblebee.
