Jennifer K. Sweeney

To find me
over the crisscross places
without losing center.
 
One delicate hiding
meant for its own
private witness.
 
We don’t all want to be hung
on the beauty mantle
nor have the possession
 
that something lovely seen,
be wanted for all-time.
My bloom my bloom—
 
blush mercy of years—
is the answer
that comes after the question
 
has buried itself
in the asking.
Some have tried
 
but they could not
break open
the seed.

seeing-time comes again
sliding its overshine up the peaks
 
oh that it comes so soon now
scrabbling to reach all the layers
to the brownest dark
where darkness hides
itself in holes
 
don’t sing to me sweet deep dark
when the berries are redred
and I can thicket-paw through
 
I am mouthfuls
in the swish of a warm while
 
one bear two we pad deep
in yarrow
which hum to follow which
hum goes gold
 
trundle the stream
we unsleep
into water that is
one water    elegant and cool
lucky swipe a fish
go where the one water goes
 
thin shine now
when the light leaves it leaves
to nothing