The tortoise walks on tiptoe in June,
Buttery light, distant thunder
in the month of my ardors.
Flailing boughs, coral lime
Then silence, dark creamy
shadows in nighttime verdure.
The moon traversing the garden,
florals made of a blush or a breath,
nightbirds with a little lump
of insect under their tongues, breath
of clover, grassy, spiced,
and all of it rinsed of emotion.
The leaden nymph by the gate.
All, all rinsed of emotion.
By what bough are the fireflies
The night’s leavings in daylight
lie hidden like the stars.
“Ardors” by Carol Frost from I Will Say Beauty. © 2003 by Carol Frost. Published by TriQuarterly/Northwestern University Press. All rights reserved.
Source: I Will Say Beauty
(TriQuarterly Books, 2003)