My Love Lies Bleeding (Part Ii)
I turn and run down to the wet places where fawns remedy their
thirst from the waterbrooks. Panting, I fall to my knees and gather buttercups,
crowsfoots, hellebore and peonies and grind the crimson, white, yellow and
purple petals atop a stone. I brush the crushed blossoms into a straight trumpet
with my fingertips and dip out water from a brook with my cupped palm to mix the
elixir in the lily. As I lean over the small stream, brooding and pining away, I catch
a glimpse of my reflection below, only to notice the looming of a narcissus
beside my visage.
Then, I hear a song of coos go out to my love, and I turn about in
fear when I see the bobolink migrating. So, in a pledge of hope and trust toward
her, I knot the golden chain she gave me hanging around my neck. Thus, hasting
through the field of flowers, my lovelorn heart pounds as I run back to her.
Though she's slipping away, her ruddy color is unfaded, so I anxiously give her
the medicinal draft. Some spills over her milky teeth and rosy cheeks in rivulets,
while the remainder goes down within. I observe. All the snowdrops fall. The
buckthorns rustle. The central flowers in their clusters bloom, then all the
clusters open.
I stretch out upon my love mouth to mouth and breast to breast.
The potion stimulates her heart, and I feel her flesh warm under mine. Her
wounds heal. Now my love lies breathing, strengthened and embraced in my
arms; in our flower bed weeping aloud, we rise and clasp hands and dance
rings around the roses to my rheumy serenade.
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