Darkwood

Bright-limmed figures from
a book of hours move upon
the wood's interior dark.

Knight in his armour. The lady
in her bower. Their love in
dream stasis, unconsummated.

Old holly trees put out leaves
like mortification, sharp
as a sword between them...

Often they sit at table.
The knight lifts his cup. A little
harp is plucked beside him.

Sometimes it is a dance with
heads in profile while the torsos
face the viewer years beyond.

Always there's black behind.
Memento mori. They died of course.
It was a long time ago...

Yet I persist in using present tense,
now of the evergreen holly leaf
neither perceived to wither nor to fall.

Copyright © 2004 Annemarie Austin All rights reserved
from Back From The Moon
Bloodaxe Books / Dufour Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission