May Gives Itself With Sweet Abandon

We shall remember once, too late,

This simple happening, so fine,

This very bench where we are seated,

Your burning temple next to mine.

From hazel stamens, cinders fall

White as the poplars that they land on,

Beginnings want to be fecund,

May gives itself with sweet abandon.

The pollen falls on both of us,

Small mountains made of golden ashes

It forms around us, and it falls

On our shoulders and our lashes.

It falls into our mouths when speaking,

On eyes, when we are mute with wonder

And there’s regret, but we don’t know

Why it would tear us both asunder.

We shall remember once, too late,

This simple happening, so fine,

This very bench where we are seated

Your burning temple next to mine.

In dreams, through longings, we can see—

All latent in the dust of gold

These forests that perhaps could be—

But that will never, ever, grow.