In Evening Air, I Hear the Lime Trees Weep
In evening air, I hear the lime trees weep,
As blossoms’ fall in waves on shadowed sands.
My lips still taste of love’s forgotten sleep,
Of passing faith, of want’s austere commands.
The skin, the scent of oranges’ wavered sting,
The grace of flowing dancers’ contra steps,
The touch, the summer night’s soft offering,
The loss, like passion kept in heart’s regrets.
Her hidden eyes from shoulder’s backward lean,
Her smile contained in every catching breath,
Her favor gleaned in moonlit hills unseen,
Her love bestowed like po’ms lamenting death.
In thoughts of absent night, she fills my bed,
As moon, the lime trees’ flowers softly spread,