I do recall seeing the moon very early this morning, when it was hanging out with the pine trees, but the night was too cold for me to stay out and watch it. After that everything is a blur until about two o'clock this afternoon when I woke up with the television still on. Maybe I didn't dream after all. Maybe I watched television all night. December ought to be ashamed of itself, playing such tricks on me.
Monday Verse
Orchard
by H. D.
I saw the first pear
as it fell—
the honey-seeking, golden-banded,
the yellow swarm
was not more fleet than I,
(spare us from loveliness)
and I fell prostrate
crying:
you have flayed us
with your blossoms,
spare us the beauty
of fruit-trees.
The honey-seeking
paused not,
the air thundered their song,
and I alone was prostrate.
O rough-hewn
god of the orchard,
I bring you an offering—
do you, alone unbeautiful,
son of the god,
spare us from loveliness:
these fallen hazel-nuts,
stripped late of their green sheaths,
grapes, red-purple,
their berries
dripping with wine,
pomegranates already broken,
and shrunken figs
and quinces untouched,
I bring you as offering.