I am to swing, opening gates
a child bearing summer to its end
with the kindness of leaves.
I am to be diamonds, pick-me-ups
queer riddles you do not know.
Not an English evergreen
breaking
but empress of milk
the blood I leave for the ages.

I am to proliferate.
I am roseate and frequent.
I am a sextant. I am full of sky.

I once walked across the playground.
My confusion was greater than the hills.
There was too much bread
and circumstances were not
looking great.

The leaves are my sisters.
We fall.

 

Jill Jones