As with all joys, I dole out poems (and songs) to myself in hopes I won’t get spoiled and want — expect — more, more, more.
So, I skimmed through and read a few lines to see which poem to post here from the The Best Poems of Jane Kenyon (selected by her husband, Donald Hall, after her 40-something death and published by Graywolf Press, 2005 and 2020). I loved this one:
Peonies at Dusk
White peonies blooming along the porch
send out light
while the rest of the yard grows dim.
Outrageous flowers as big as human
heads! They’re staggered
by their own luxuriance; I had
to prop them up with stakes and twine.
The moist air intensifies their scent,
and the moon moves around the barn
to find out what it’s coming from.
In the darkening June evening
I draw a blossom near and bending close
search it as a woman searches
a loved one’s face.
And with that, I’m on hiatus a while.